The Gray Area
by mkaz
Summary: A "lost" episode set directly after "Marionette." Olivia has a one-night stand after Peter's confesses his relationship with Fauxlivia. When her lover is linked to a potentially devastating threat, Olivia must delve into his past to prevent it.
1. Chapter 1

Taking her second shot of whiskey, Olivia leaned her heavy head upon her hand and tried to block out the maddening melody of the song being pushed through the speakers of the tavern:_ If you don't know me by now, you will never, never, never know me…_

She didn't want to be there, but it was better to be there, instead of at home. She felt like she never wanted to go back into that apartment, knowing what went on there between Peter and that…woman.

She finally deigned to look around the dark, empty room, and ended up locking eyes with another patron. It was a man, probably somewhere in his late 40's to early 50's, with neatly cropped gray hair and chiseled features. The man's clear blue eyes seemed to shine out of the dimness like the light of a lamp. His gaze was hard, yet sincere. Olivia let her eyes linger for about a second and a half before pulling them back to the empty glass on the table.

She felt the man get up from his table, and her heart began to pound in anxiety. She definitely didn't want company, but she didn't want to be forced to leave, either. She felt a vague sense of relief when she realized he wasn't approaching her, but was instead walking to the restroom. Slowly she exhaled.

The bartender came by shortly after that and asked if she wanted another drink. Knowing she could easily have one, but not wanting to be a mess in the morning, she politely declined.

Nearly ten minutes passed, and Olivia realized that the blue-eyed man hadn't returned from the restroom. She eyed the hallway passage warily, wondering if there was perhaps an exit from the tavern over there.

It really wasn't her business, but she had to admit, she was mildly curious. And the wondering took her mind off of Peter and alternate universes, so there was a small relief in it.

Finally, after another minute passed, she pulled herself from her booth, shaking off the momentary feeling of vertigo from the drinks and from sitting for so long, and made her way to the back hallway.

As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she made out a thin cloud of smoke, gently sailing her way. Then, taking one step closer, she realized it was the man with the blue eyes, smoking a clandestine cigarette. It had started raining, and he probably didn't want to have to leave the tavern and get wet to smoke. He looked at her as if she were intruding upon him. Feeling ridiculous, she quickly darted into the ladies room, turning her eyes downward.

She didn't want him to think she had been following him, so she'd have to stay in there for at least a minute or two. She'd drunk a lot anyway, so she might as well empty her bladder while she was there.

_Is this what I've come to_? Olivia found herself thinking as she read the lewd words scrawled in blue and black ink on the walls of the stall. _Passing the night in a bar, checking up on strange men?_

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. When she'd been captured by Walternate, subjected to experiments and prepared for dissection, it was the thought of coming home, to Peter, that kept her going. Thinking of lying on the sofa with him, watching movies at night. Walking along the harbor on a misty day, letting the chill air blow upon them, thinking of their warm bed waiting for them. Even letting Walter cook her one of his elaborate meals while Peter rolled his eyes and smiled.

But that was all gone now. _She_ had taken it away from Olivia, and _she_ took it with her when she escaped, scot-free, to her own universe.

Olivia left the restroom and returned to her seat, thinking now that she probably should order some food so she didn't look like the sad, lonely loser she felt inside. She was surprised when she returned to her table to find her drink refreshed and a bowl of soup waiting for her.

Olivia looked around at the other tables, thinking at first that she went to the wrong one. But she quickly realized that this was her table, and against her better judgment, she slid back into the booth. She stared at the white ceramic bowl, a white layer of gruyere bubbling precipitously at the top.

"You seemed like a French onion type of girl," a voice said. Olivia turned her head to see Blue Eyes standing next to her table, a triumphant smile on his face.

Olivia narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?" she said. Without thinking she whipped out her badge so he could see it. Her gun now pressed reassuringly into her side, ready to be fired if needed.

His smile instantly faded, and he took a step back. "Sorry," he said. "I'm no good at pick-up lines. I thought food might be less intrusive. Obviously you're not here for that." He turned and walked back to his table.

Olivia shut her eyes after he left. She was annoyed, but mostly at herself. While she had no desire to get "picked up," she didn't have to be so defensive. She had to remember that not everything and everyone had an ulterior motive, or were part of the Pattern.

She felt ridiculous being there now. She felt silly and awkward in her loneliness. She was sure the other Olivia Dunham never felt that way. Olivia now began to admit something to herself: part of her wished she'd carried on the façade of being her double in the alternate universe a little longer. There were things about the place she had enjoyed: she had real friends on the Fringe team, a camaraderie that simply didn't exist here. She had a sweet, handsome, funny boyfriend who loved her. Best of all, she had her mom, and they had a wonderful relationship.

But it was no use now. She wasn't going back there. All she had now was this universe and a life that that she was beginning to realize was quite empty.

It was at this moment that something broke in Olivia. What the hell? Why did she have to be so proper in living this empty life? Before she could reconsider, Olivia picked up her soup and drink and walked over to the man who'd bought them for her.

She sat down without being asked. He looked surprised, but he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in an unexpectedly charming way.

She returned the smile, shyly. "For all you know, I could have been lactose intolerant," she remarked as she took a spoonful of the soup.

"Ha," he chuckled. He took up her spoon when she was finished, and rather brazenly took a helping from her cup for himself. "It would have just meant more for me."

* * *

><p>Olivia's laughter rang out through the tavern as Harry told her the story of the first – and last – time his ex-wife tried hot waxing.<p>

"So she decides to throw out all the instructions on how to use the wax, she's sure she knows exactly what she's doing. She takes out the wax – doesn't bother to heat it up, mind you – and slathers globs of it on her bikini line. Then she slaps the paper onto her thighs, tries to pull it off, and…what do you know? The paper won't come off. It's stuck to her skin."

"Oh gosh! What did she do?"

"Well, I was in the Air Force at the time – we were living in the military housing at Andrews. She calls me while I'm at the lab, and she's like, 'Help! I'm covered in wax! You need to come home now!'

"Not something you hear from your wife every day."

"Definitely. I told her, 'Honey, I'm in the Air Force – I can't just _come home_. Just sit tight until my shift ends at midnight.'"

"So…was she able to wait?"

"Well, she was too embarrassed to tell anyone else, so she tried getting it off herself. She came up with the idea to boil a huge pot of water, hoping that the steam would loosen the wax so she could pull the strips off."

"I…don't like where this is going."

"I came home at midnight like I said, and there she is, stark naked, standing in front of a steaming pot of water, orange wax running down her thighs, balling like a baby."

Olivia held her hand to her mouth. "So, uh, did the wax ever come off?"

"Eventually, we were able to scrape it off. But she burned herself from the steam coming off the boiling water, so for the next week or so, she was walking really funny. She made me swear not to tell anyone. Unfortunately for her, they held a party for one of the retiring generals soon after that, and she had to be there. My friends took one look at her funny walk and started joking that I must be an animal in the sack."

Olivia covered her face in her arms, her whole body shaking with laughter. She threw back her hair and wiped the tears out of her eyes. "Oh, man. I haven't laughed like that in a long time."

Harry smiled gently. "Yeah, it uh…it looked like you needed a good one."

Olivia became silent at this remark, turning her glass around in her hands. She could feel his eyes on her bent head. _Don't cry_, she thought to herself. _You didn't cry at John's funeral, or Charlie's. You're not going to cry now._

"We're closing now, folks," the bartender called from the front of the room.

Olivia blinked quickly, then squinted at the delicate gold watch on her wrist. "I didn't realize it had gotten this late." She got up from the table, gathering her coat and pulling out her wallet to pay her bill.

Of course, she knew it had to end, but she didn't want to go back to her apartment. Perhaps she could go to her office and wait until the morning. It was 2 am according to her watch; a couple of hours wasn't so bad.

Harry took her arm. "Look, we've had a nice talk and laugh, and I'd like to keep it going. You don't strike me as the type that goes home with strange men, not that there's anything wrong with…but…man, I am bad at this. I just mean…I'd like to spend more time with you."

She could feel the heat on her cheeks. "Harry, you seem like a good guy, but I'm not in a position to…"

He cut her off. "Sorry. You're married, right?"

Right after he said that, they jumped at the sound of a glass breaking. The bartender sheepishly ran to the back of the bar to grab a dustbin. He'd been listening in while he hung the clean glasses, and let one slip out of his hands when he heard the man mention being married.

Olivia turned back to Harry with a chuckle. "I'm not used to being so interesting to strangers," she joked. She took a deep breath. "I'm not married. Far from it, actually."

Harry smiled. "Well, don't worry about it. It's not all it's cracked up to be. You never know when you might come home and find your husband trying to wax his bikini line with a pot of boiling water."

She laughed as they made their way to the exit. The night seemed peaceful, now that the rain had stopped. There was a star here and there in the sky, but mostly blocked by city pollution. Olivia always liked this time of night. It felt deep, and silent, and sacred. She was naturally a night person, often working alone in those hours. Sometimes, it felt like it belonged just to her.

Olivia's car was parked just a block up, though she could probably have walked to the FBI building since it was so close. It was probably best if she did. More time to kill.

She didn't want to get Harry's hopes up, so she took his arm and gave it a friendly squeeze. "It was really nice to have met you. Thanks for the laugh."

Harry smiled, clearly disappointed. "Anytime," he told her.

* * *

><p>"So what's his name?"<p>

"What's whose name?"

Harry chuckled as he stopped massaging Olivia's left shoulder and now focused on the right. "You know. Mr. Done-You-Wrong. The one who sent you to O'Leery's to drink whiskey all night."

Olivia chuckled, and was surprised at it. She didn't think she could ever chuckle about the mistake Peter had made – or the hurt he'd caused. Just a few hours earlier she was berating him for not being able to see through the other Olivia's ruse. It only served to prove that Peter never really knew her at all.

Being here with this strange man in his house, however, made her let most of her guard down. So she answered Harry's question directly, though not completely.

"His name is Peter, since you asked," she told him. She rolled herself over onto her back on Harry's bed, and he promptly turned to lie beside her.

"Massage wasn't so good?" he asked.

"No, it was fine," she told him, then continued. "We work together, and…a while back, I was sent on a mission in a foreign country. I was…captured…experimented on."

Harry looked wounded. "Olivia, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. I'm fine now, no permanent damage."

He took her hand. "Nothing you can see, anyway."

"Yeah," she said softly. "Anyway, I was able to escape with the help of one of their agents, who felt sorry for me, and when I got back and recovered, I found out that…Peter had moved on without me. With one of their spies, working undercover."

Harry whistled. "This sounds like the plot of an action movie."

_More like a sci-fi thriller, if you knew the half of it_, Olivia thought to herself. Feeling exposed now, she rolled over and stood up, feeling around on the floor to find her clothes.

Harry rolled over and looked at the analog clock on the nightstand. "Nearly seven. Yeah, I guess it's about time to get ready for the day."

Olivia smiled. "Thank God for coffee, right?"

"Yeah, well, I'm retired. The most that's going to happen is my golf swing is going to be a little off this afternoon."

"Oh, just rub it in, why don't you."

* * *

><p>Harry offered to make Olivia breakfast before she left, but she declined, saying that she needed to get home and get some paperwork done before going into the office. They both knew the real reason: for Olivia, this was a one-night stand, and that one night was now over with the sun coming up. She'd made that clear to Harry throughout the whole thing: the kissing, the touching, all of it.<p>

He walked her to her car. "Look Olivia…I know I'm not going to see you again, so before you go, I wanted to tell you something."

He took her face in his hands. "I'm not trying to be condescending when I say this. You're so young, and it's clear you've been through a lot. But what's happened to you – the hurt you feel –let it become a part of you, but don't let it define you. You know what the difference is."

Olivia started to feel tears forming at her eyes. She allowed him to pull her in for a kiss. "Thank you. Thank you for this," she told him.

He smiled at her, and for a moment Olivia felt like he desperately needed to tell her something. Instead the smile turned into a rakish grin and he said, "An incredible night with a beautiful woman? I think I should be thanking you."

Harry stood there on the curb while Olivia drove away, and she knew it. She looked at him in the mirror. She was tempted to look back at him, but couldn't quite do it. Finally she turned back at the end of the block, before she needed to make a left turn. But he had already gone back into the house.

* * *

><p>Olivia wasn't proud of what she'd done. Her Puritan heritage made her scornful of one-night stands, finding them superficial and shallow. But she had to admit, it was much easier walking into her apartment afterwards, knowing that she hadn't been there all night.<p>

It brought her a vague sense of satisfaction to think that maybe Peter had called, or had even stopped by her apartment to try to talk to her, and found that she wasn't there.

She went to her bedroom, stopping in her tracks when she saw her queen sized bed, still stripped down to the mattress cover. She'd already decided to make some time to visit Rachel and Ella in Chicago, and spend a good deal of it taking them shopping, while buying new things for her apartment. She'd even been tempted to find a new place to live, but that would have been too extreme. No, a whole new set of linens, new towels, new underwear – that would be enough.

Sighing, she began taking off her clothes, feeling a pleasant ache in her body from the night's activities. It had been a long time – since John was alive. In some ways, Harry reminded Olivia of the lover she'd lost. He was older, like John, and he also took his time, mapping out the curves of her body, figuring out what she liked.

In her more empty moments, she had wondered what sort of lover Peter was. Was he inventive, a risk taker? Was he playful? Did he like to play the pursuer, or did he prefer to be pursued?

Well, she wasn't going to find out now. That part of their relationship was over before it even started.

She took a long, hot shower, and a cloud of steam followed her from the bathroom to the bedroom as she went to put on her clothes. With perfect timing, there came a knock on her door just as she finished combing her hair and putting on her shoes.

Anxiously she opened it, hoping it wasn't Peter, or even Walter.

It wasn't. Broyles stern, dark face stared at her from the doorway. "Dunham, something just came in." He sighed. "Listen, if you don't feel ready…"

"No, sir, I'm fine," Olivia insisted. "Let me just grab my coat."

* * *

><p>They were both silent as Broyles drove them to the scene of their next case. Olivia could tell he wanted to say something to her, but wasn't sure how to say it. Finally, trying to give him a lead in with some levity, she remarked, "I think this is the first time you've ever picked me up to go to a case. Not that I don't appreciate the concierge service."<p>

Olivia made out just the barest of snorts from her superior. He replied, "Your life – your personal life – is none of my business. But there are times, I know, when your personal and your professional life inevitably collide together. I know that's happening to you right now, Dunham. I'm simply trying to help you separate those two, the best you can."

Olivia looked at Broyles as he drove. "There's more to it than that, sir. Isn't it?"

Broyles looked at her for a brief second before returning his sight to the road. "I went to see the body of…the one from the other side. The other Philip Broyles. He gave his life to get you home. I feel that our team owes him a great deal. Part of that means looking after you, Dunham. You are at the heart of what we do. Without the heart, the body dies, and his death is for nothing."

Olivia gave a small smile at her boss's concession, but her smile quickly faded when she realized where they were driving to. This was the neighborhood she had just been in, not more than two hours ago.

Her heart pounded as Broyles made a right turn onto Harry's street. They passed one house after the other, and with each one Olivia could only pray that Broyles was merely taking some short cut to the crime scene that she wasn't aware of.

Broyles stopped the car at a yellow and black cape cod, house number 114. Slowly Olivia got out of the car, observing the federal agents in haz-mat suits moving in and out of the structure. Broyles began giving her an account of what they knew so far, but Olivia didn't need to hear it. She knew more than Broyles could tell.

_Harry_, she thought in despair.

* * *

><p>Walter and Peter were already fully suited and inside the house before Olivia and Broyles arrived. The house was quiet and intact – nothing broken or moved or out of place. They were in the kitchen, examining the body of the man who presumably owned the house, Harold Locksmith, aged 48. Neighbors called the police when they heard terrible screams coming from inside the house. There was little left of him, only a skeleton with scraps of cartilage, blood, and hair clinging to the frame. The body lay on the white tile in a pool of gray fluid, as yet unidentified.<p>

"That was quite a good milkshake we had last night, eh Peter?" Walter commented through his mask as he scraped a sample of the goo into a vial. "The viscosity of this reminds me of it. Good ratio of ice cream to strawberries, I thought."

Peter ignored Walter's comment and the nauseous feeling it produced. "What is this grey stuff? Mercury? Is this a shapeshifter?"

"I don't believe so," Walter remarked. "Mercury is liquid at room temperature. This room is…slightly higher than that." He held the vial up to his mask. "The contents of this vial are not merely liquid; it appears to have particles in it."

"Then what-" Peter was promptly cut off by a loud yowl and a shuffling noise. The two men quickly stood up to see a cat running toward them.

"I thought this area was clear!" Peter barked into his receiver to the agents outside while Walter tried to block the cat from entering.

"Damnit, Walter, pick the thing up!" Peter yelled at the older man, who froze in his tracks.

"I can't, Peter! You know how I hate cats-" Walter complained, just as the cat's paw touched the tip of the gray spill.

Instantly the cat froze, then fell over. It convulsed and shook, as its fur began to drop off of its body. Walter and Peter stood back in horror as it wailed with agony and something began to undulate under its skin.

A tear appeared in the side of the cat, and gray goo burst out of its flesh, engulfing the body, burying it.

"We need to get out of here, now!" Peter yelled at his adoptive father, and the two quickly exited the house.

Broyles and Olivia approached the two men as Peter ordered the agents to put up a blockade of the house.

"What is it?" Broyles demanded.

"There was a cat in there – the thing must have been hiding when the police came in to search the house," Peter explained. "It – it touched that gray stuff the man's body lay in, and it just…attacked the animal. I've never seen anything like it."

Olivia looked down as she thought of the cat. Shalimar was her name. Harry told her when Olivia saw her sitting on his living room sofa when they first came back to his house. She was a feral cat, and had been injured when Harry found her while jogging. He carried her in his arms to his neighbor's house, who was a veterinarian. When she was well, Harry had no choice but to take her in. He wasn't going to risk her getting hurt again in the wild, even if that had been the world she always lived in.

"She reminds me that I can be a good person," Harry told Olivia as the cat curled itself against his caress. "Sometimes I doubt it, but…when I see how grateful she is for her home, I know it's in me."

Olivia had only met the two of them a few hours ago. Now they were both dead.

"I have," Walter gasped, as he caught his breath. Olivia was roused out of her thoughts.

"Sorry Walter – what do you mean?" Olivia asked him.

"I'm saying I have seen something like this before. No one goes into that house, no one touches anything in there!" Walter leaned in confidentially to his team. "We must contain this at all costs."

"Dr. Bishop, the FBI has no intention of alerting the public…" Broyles began.

"I'm not talking about disclosure!" Walter snapped. "I mean that gray substance in that house. No one goes near it. No one will examine it but me, not even Peter, do you understand?"

Walter now looked intensely into Olivia's worried green eyes. "If one drop of it gets loose, _even one_…it will be the end of all life on earth."


	2. Chapter 2

_Massive Dynamic Satellite Laboratory – Bristol, Vermont_

Peter watched Walter through the layers of bullet-proof glass as the older man examined a sample of the gray substance they collected at the crime scene. Walter had been adamant that no one should be allowed in the cleanroom but him, and that all possible means should be used to quarantine Harold Locksmith's house. He even made all of them drive up north to Massive Dynamic's rural lab, insisting that it was not safe for the substance to be in such a densely populated area as Boston.

Peter stepped away from the window and rubbed his eyes. He knew that fringe events weren't going to bend to his will, but he really would have preferred to have some breathing room between the strange events surrounding the previous night's case and the crisis they were facing today. He had hoped that if Olivia had the chance to take some time away from everything, and from him, they could work to repair their relationship.

But it wasn't to be. Conspicuously Olivia avoided looking at Peter at the crime scene, and curtly announced that she would begin to investigate the victim. Sparing only a few seconds for Broyles to give his assent, she promptly left with one of the other investigators to return to the office.

Peter could see that she was tired, and angry. But there was something else to her mood, something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. She had almost seemed…distressed by what they'd told her.

"Bishop," Broyles called from down the hall. "Has your father been able to find out anything useful?"

Peter felt the back of his head tingle when he heard Broyles' reference to Walter, but ignored it. "No. He's still in there. He won't let anyone in there with him."

"Do you have any theories?"

"Well, it's kind of hard to have any, since I was only allowed about five minutes in the presence of the stuff," Peter said wryly. "I just don't know."

"I might be able to help," a voice called out. The two men looked behind them. It was Nina Sharp, approaching them with a man they hadn't met before.

"This is Dr. Avila," she told Broyles and Peter, gesturing to her companion. "He's one of world's foremost experts on molecular nanotechnology."

"Ah," Peter said, tilting his head back in realization. "Now it all makes sense."

"Care to fill me in?" Broyles asked.

"It's commonly called the 'Gray Goo' scenario, Agent Broyles," Dr. Avila replied. "A theory that the world could end through endlessly self-replicating robots that consume all matter they come into contact with."

"Well, it was certainly gooey and gray enough at our crime scene today," Peter said sarcastically. "But if that's the case, wouldn't it be completely out of control by now? They seemed to stop at the man and his cat."

Dr. Avila looked at Nina with concern. "We believe that it's because the robots – the nanites – only function in the presence of certain chemicals," she explained. "In this case…cellular peptides."

"So…they only consume and replicate in organic life," Peter concluded. "Well, that lessens the threat – slightly."

"I could be mistaken but…microscopic, self-replicating robots seem beyond the reach of our technology at this time," Broyles said.

"It would seem so, but technology is rapidly changing and advancing every day," Dr. Avila said. "I personally have been studying the applications of this technology for ten years, and new advancements are being made every day, though nothing as sophisticated as what we saw today."

Peter didn't miss the faint smile of excitement on Dr. Avila's face. He made a note to himself to watch this man very closely. Before he could add to the conversation, his phone rang.

"Yes," he answered.

"Peter? It's Astrid. Any news?"

"News? Yes. Good news? Not today," he told her. "Walter's still examining the sample. Any info on your end?"

"Yes, but not on our case. It's…about that thing, you asked me to research for you. I have an address. Can you write it down?"

"Uh…sure," Peter replied, looking at the others in the hallway. "Just give me a second." Holding the phone away, he told Broyles, Nina, and Dr. Avila he'd return in a moment, then promptly left the hallway.

Right after Peter excused himself, Walter vacated the cleanroom, his face etched deep with lines of worry. Keeping his head down, he said, "Asteroid, get me some red vines, will you."

"Astrid's not here, Walter," Nina reminded him gently. "She's in Boston. Were you able to find out anything we can use?"

Walter smiled sadly. "These machines – these little demons – they are superbly designed. The most efficient killers I've ever seen. They are each about the size of a human ovum, and the one drop I studied contained hundreds of thousands of them. The circuitry involved – mind blowing." Walter paused when he realized he was standing in the presence of someone he'd never met. "Who are you?"

"I'm Doctor Joseph Avila, Doctor Bishop," Dr. Avila told him. "I've studied your work on wormholes. I'm…quite the fan."

Walter smiled appreciatively at this. "I wish we were meeting under better circumstances, Doctor."

Nina spoke up. "That's why he's here, Walter. Dr. Avila's area of expertise is nanotechnology. I think we should allow him to take over the investigation."

Walter looked stricken. "What?"

"Doctor Bishop, none of us are doubting your skills as a scientist, but this is very specialized knowledge," Dr. Avila said gently. "I reviewed your file, and given your…absence from mainsteam society for nearly twenty years, you are ill-equipped to research such a technological innovation."

"With all due respect, doctor, I was hypothesizing the use of flagella on nanites when you were still soiling your diapers!"

"Walter!" Peter exclaimed as he approached. He put his arm around Walter, who was shaking with anger. "Let's go talk for a minute."

Peter looked over his shoulder as Nina escorted Dr. Avila and Broyles to one of their other laboratory rooms. When he and Walter were safely out of earshot, he asked, "What's wrong with you? That was rude, even for you."

"You should be asking Nina what's wrong with her! Bringing that – that impudent pup into my laboratory!" Walter exploded. "I don't need his help. I can figure this out on my own."

Peter looked at him with incredulity. "Walter…what's this really about?"

The older man looked at the boy that was the son of his heart, but not of his body. "What if this is my fault, Peter? What if these nanites are from the other side, another way for them to torture us?"

"Walter."

"Don't you see that this is my burden, son? The terrible things we saw over there – the way Olivia suffered under Walternate's orders - I can't live with myself, I can't let more things happen! It's my responsibility to keep this world safe – mine, no one else's!"

Peter sighed and put his hands on Walter's shoulders. "No matter what you've done, that's just too much responsibility for one person. You need to let us help you, Walter. You need to let us share the burden. It belongs to all of us now."

Walter patted Peter's hands and gently removed them from his shoulders. "Maybe I can let Dr. Avila take a look at my findings while I…go get a Snickers bar."

Peter smiled. "That's the spirit."

As Walter walked away, Peter reached into his pocket, his fingers sliding along the edge of the folded piece of paper marked with an address. Somehow, he needed to find time to go there.

* * *

><p><em>Boston, Massachusetts<em>

The lack of sleep in over 24 hours was weighing heavily on Olivia. She felt like her temples were being submerged in ice. The black coffee she was inhaling like oxygen could only do so much.

She sighed and once again reviewed Harry's file. Thanks to the information he gave her over their late-night chat, she was able to find her answers much more quickly than would be normal. Fortunately for her, he had told her the truth about everything – everything except the nanites.

Astrid came by Olivia's desk, laying a file on the top. "Here's what Andrews sent over about Harold Locksmith. He worked as a lab technician during his time with the Air Force, saw duty only once during the Gulf War." She pulled up a chair next to Olivia to look at what she was working on. "He had a science background, but nothing that qualify him for the level of complexity that nanotechnology exists on."

Olivia sighed and sat back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. "Maybe it was just a random act of bioterrorism. Harry was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. This certainly wouldn't be the first time we've seen it."

Astrid cocked an eyebrow in confusion. "_Harry_?"

Olivia masked her anxiety with a casual smile. "Oh, yeah, um, there were a bunch of personal correspondences in my research. Apparently no one called him "Harold," not even his superior officers. I just got used to seeing it."

"Uh huh. Olivia, did you sleep at all last night? You're exhausted."

Olivia smoothed back her ponytail and gave a short smile. "Not really. I…it's been tough. You know."

Astrid laid her hand on her colleague's shoulder. "I know, but I can't even imagine. Here, let me make you a cup of green tea. It'll help soothe you a bit."

"Oh, Astrid, don't go to any trouble-"

"No, no trouble. I already boiled a pot of water."

At the sound of Astrid's words, something clicked inside of Olivia's brain and she sat bolt upright, turned back to her computer, and frantically began to retrieve information she'd previously gathered.

Astrid frowned as she watched Olivia's fingers fly over the keyboard. "Olivia? What is it?"

Olivia looked over her shoulder, excitement gleaming in her eyes. "Astrid, I need you to get me on the next plane to Maryland. I just figured out my next step."

* * *

><p><em>Columbia, Maryland<em>

Olivia watched as Gail Locksmith poured a cup of green tea into a lovely blue and white cup. A wry thought passed in her mind that even if Harry's ex-wife could tell her nothing useful, at least Olivia could tell Astrid she'd managed to work in a cup of "soothing tea."

"Thank you," she told the red-eyed woman. "I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me. I know this hasn't been…an easy day for you."

Gail chuckled mirthlessly and smoothed back a lock of short dark hair. "It's funny. Harry and I haven't spoken to each other in nearly ten years. I honestly thought I'd never see him again. Now he's gone, and…I've never cried so much in my life. I feel like a widow, you know? Even though…it's been so long."

Olivia nodded sympathetically, but in her heart, she admitted something difficult to herself: that she, too, felt like a widow. She knew she had no reason to feel that way – she'd only known Harry for eight hours and he didn't even know her last name – but it was the way he'd made her feel when she was with him. She didn't feel special or powerful, the way Walter and Peter and even Broyles made her feel – that gnawing expectation of greatness that weighed on her.

No, with Harry she'd just been a woman in a bar. Just a woman. She liked that feeling; she'd missed that feeling.

And now, knowing that Harry was no longer in the world, Olivia couldn't feel that way anymore. She imagined that's what it felt like to be a widow.

"Can you – can you tell me how he died? The police were so cryptic," Gail asked Olivia.

"I'm sorry, I can't say much. The investigation is still on-going. We don't know what it was that killed your ex-husband, but we believe that it was an act of terrorism, and the fact that it occurred in his house, while he was alone, leads us to believe that they must have targeted him specifically. What we don't know, is why."

Gail sat back on the sofa, clutching her thin knees in surprise. "I can't imagine why anyone would target Harry. He was a sweet, funny, adorable man who didn't have a cruel bone in his body. I mean, yes, he was in the military, but he was a lab tech, that's all. And it was such a brief time in his life."

"What did he do after he left the Air Force?"

"Well, we divorced shortly after that, but he'd gone to work for the Library of Congress. I decided to stay in the area too because, well, I'd always had happy memories here. Anyway, I assume he was still there in D.C. up until…until now."

"Oh no, he told – I mean, his file indicated that he was retired."

Gail looked at Olivia as if she had three heads. "But he was only 48. Why would he retire so early?"

Just then, the cordless phone lying on the coffee table between them began to rang. Gail picked it up to read the display, then rolled her eyes. "One of my old friends from when I was married. They must have heard about Harry. I've been getting these all day. Will you excuse me?"

"Of course."

Once Gail got up and left, Olivia stood up and began to look around the living room. The house didn't have the feeling of Harold's presence in it at all. In fact, it felt like the exact opposite of Harry's house. His house was full of earthtones, with lots of wood and stone accents. Gail's house, on the other hand, felt very much manufactured – from the wood composite end tables, to the view of the man-made lake the house bordered. Olivia sighed, feeling like it was a waste of time to be here.

Then, suddenly, she felt a strange sensation, as if a friend were laying a reassuring hand on the back of her shoulder. Turning towards the feeling, Olivia noticed a bound red-leather book sitting by the fireplace. Olivia stooped down and picked up the book, and flipping it open, realized it was an album.

She skimmed through the photos, most of which were Gail in the beginning. As she got toward the middle, she caught more imagines of Gail and Harry.

Olivia couldn't help smiling as she looked at Harry's face smiling back at her. Harry was smiling at her while he fished in a boat. While he and Gail made a snowman in the winter. While he and Gail sat poolside in the summer, drinking beer with their friends. While he and Gail danced at their wedding.

_You were a good guy, Harry Locksmith_, Olivia thought to herself as she flipped through his life in pictures. _I wish I could have saved you_.

She was nearly at the end when she caught a glimpse of something that made her arms freeze. She looked at that one photo, a shot of mostly of Gail, standing in the foreground, her arms around two other girls at what appeared to be an Air Force function. But it was the image of Harry in the background, and who he was chatting confidentially with that caused Olivia's hands to contract and drop the album with a thunderous thud.

Gail practically sprinted to the living room when she heard the sound. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded, when she saw Olivia had dropped her album and pictures were scattered on the floor.

Shocked, Olivia knelt down and picked up the photo that had given her pause. She held it up for Gail to see, pointing out Harry and the other man in the back. "He knew him," she said in a soft, scared voice. "Harry knew John Scott!"


	3. Chapter 3

A short, rotund man with hair the color of winter zoya sat in a booth in Angora Deli on Commonwealth, finishing the last of his dill pickle chips. What remained on his plate were the crumbs from a pastrami and swiss on rye, light on the mustard. He glanced at it, debating on whether or not to order dessert before Aaron Loeb arrived.

His conflict did not last long, as his confidante showed up soon after that. Tall and muscular, a darker version of his brother Mitchell, Aaron's expression was glum.

"We've been compromised," Aaron announced bluntly. "Locksmith is dead, and the feds have the nanites."

When his companion didn't answer, Aaron asked, "Ted?"

"I heard you," the larger man said pleasantly. "I'm just trying to make a decision."

"Well, the way I see it is, we need to ask our contacts to send more. We have no choice."

"That wasn't the decision I'm talking about, Aaron. Should I order a wedge of cherry pie and a cup of coffee, even though I'm full?"

Aaron sighed. It was times like these that he truly resented Mitchell for getting himself captured and leaving him to deal with fools like these. "Ted," he said soft, tense voice, "perhaps there are more important things to worry about than a damn dessert."

Ted's flicked his eyes up to his companion and smiled, the folds of fat under his eyes nearly covering them. "Indeed. But perhaps my predicament is our predicament in a microcosm. Perhaps we should be content with what we have instead of asking for more.

"If we contact our friends across the water for more nanites, they will be less than pleased. So why not take back what we already have? Dr. Bishop now owns Massive Dynamic, and you know that he's too smart to allow it to stay in Boston. All we need to do is infiltrate his lab and take it."

"Oh, that's all?" Aaron asked with skepticism.

"Yes, it is. No place is air-tight. We just need to find the right entrance."

* * *

><p>Olivia was breaking land speed records on route 295 when Broyles called.<p>

"Dunham," Olivia's superior greeted her flatly. "Where are you? It's been hours since you've reported."

"Sorry, sir. I'm on my way to D.C. right now. I'm following a lead." Olivia paused, trying to decide if she wanted to confess her relationship with the man they were investigating. "Sir, there's something I need to tell you-"

"Before you do that, Dr. Bishop has news about the nanites." Broyles looked up from the large conference table that he, Nina, Dr. Avila, Peter, and Walter were gathered around in the Massive Dynamic lab. "Go ahead, Dr. Bishop."

"Very well. Olivia? Can you hear me, dear? I'm on speakerphone."

"Loud and clear, Walter," Olivia replied with a slight roll of her eyes.

"Good. Now as you all know, the grey goo that killed Mr. Locksmith is comprised of millions of nanites, which appear to have been tailored to replicate in organic matter only. It's obvious that these nanites were originally designed for medical purposes, for accelerated healing and regeneration that is simply not possible through the body's natural defenses."

"But these specific nanites appear to have been corrupted," Peter added. "They attack healthy tissue without stopping the replication."

"But, we do have a way of identifying them!" Walter announced hopefully. "I was able to isolate one of the nanites and magnify its surface area. They are imprinted with some sort of manufacturer's logo."

"I'm sending the image to your phone," Broyles told Olivia. "You'll receive it shortly."

"We had Astrid search the databases for any matches to the logo, but so far we haven't had any luck," Nina said.

Olivia had just left the highway and was stopped at a red light when the image downloaded to her phone. One look at the orange and blue triangles brought the memories flooding back.

"You won't find them in any of our databases," Olivia told them.

"Why is that?" Broyles asked.

"Because these nanites come from the other side. That's the logo for the Accu-Panacea Corporation. They contract exclusively with the government over there." Olivia stared blankly at the green glow of the traffic light, until an irritated commuter behind her blew his horn and her foot automatically smashed against the accelerator.

She was thinking of Lincoln Lee and the third degree burns which had ravaged his body. He had suffered unimaginable pain and disfigurement, thanks to Sally Clark's unstable pyrokinesis. Had he lived on their side, he probably would have been dead by now, or seriously crippled. But other there, Lincoln healed at an astonishing rate and was back on duty within days. It disturbed Olivia: not the innovative technology, but rather the fact that she still cared for the man, and for others on the alternate Fringe team.

"Olivia?" Nina's voice cut through the agent's passing thoughts. "What can you tell us about the nanotechnology they use?"

"Well, it's…controlled. They administer it in small doses, over time. I don't know the exact mechanics of it, but one of the agents over there who had gotten seriously injured was put in some sort of chamber for a certain period of time, and the doses were rigorously scheduled."

"That's it!" Walter practically shouted, causing Olivia to flinch. "The nanites have no self-destruction mechanism, so the chambers must send out an electromagnetic pulse that obliterates them once they perform their given purpose and prevent mass replication."

"So the question remains, how did these nanites get over to our side, and how is Harold Locksmith tied to them?" Broyles asked.

Olivia felt her chest tighten in anxiety, but she managed to say, "It looks like he had ties to ZFT, in particular…John Scott."

Broyles traded surprised glances with Walter and Peter. "How do you know this, Dunham?"

"When I went to speak with his ex-wife, I found a picture of the two of them together. Gail Locksmith told me that she'd never met John, and that Harry never mentioned him. John never mentioned him to me when we were together either."

"The information we were able to obtain from Scott and from his files never mentioned a Harold Locksmith." Peter asked. He noticed that Walter looked deep in thought, yet uncomfortable, biting his nails in dread. The younger man glanced at him suspiciously, but said nothing.

"He could have been a trafficker in items from the other side that became weapons over here," Peter continued. "Those nanites are volatile. This Locksmith guy mishandled the goods, and paid the price."

"Or maybe he and John were both trying to bring ZFT down, and someone stopped him," Olivia argued.

"Olivia, he was in the air force, he has ties to John Scott, and his wife clearly didn't know what he was doing," Peter retorted. "We just don't know."

"That's right, we don't," Olivia shot back. "So before you start accusing people, maybe you should get your facts straight."

Olivia regretted her words even before she finished saying them. Yes, it was true: she was felt hurt and betrayed by Peter, but it had been unprofessional for her to attack him like that. In spite of everything that had – or hadn't – happened between them, they still needed to work together for the greater good.

The tension in the conference room was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Peter's face flushed pink with anger and frustration, and it was clear from Olivia's tone that she probably looked very much the same.

For a moment, Broyles felt as if they were listening in on a private conversation. He took control of the situation immediately. "Let's not start making hypotheses until we have something to hypothesize with. Dunham, where are you headed?"

"The Library of Congress. Gail Locksmith said her ex-husband worked there for a while; maybe someone there remembers him."

"Fine, but I want you back in Boston by the end of the day, no excuses. You understand me?" Broyles demanded.

"Absolutely, sir," Olivia said with a smile. Broyles came off sounding like a hardass, but she knew that it was because he was worried about her. She hung up with him and continued on to 1st street, to the Library of Congress building.

"It seems that the threat is well-contained at the moment. The quarantine around Harold Locksmith's house is still in effect. We have the nanites secure," Nina observed.

"Unless there are more," Dr. Avila said softly. Up until this point the swarthy young doctor hadn't uttered a word from his seat in the far corner. The others turned promptly to look at him.

"Do you think there are more, Doctor?" Broyles asked.

"Well, if we were to think of the nanites as a plague with global potential, it wouldn't make sense to have only one point of origin," Dr. Avila pointed out. "We don't know their limitations. If they can't be carried by air and water vectors, then the nanites are limited to a single land area."

"I see! And you believe that whoever killed Mr. Locksmith will attempt to do the same in other places." Nina stated.

"It's possible."

"But we have no way to figuring out where other origin points might be," Peter pointed out. "How do we find them?"

"We may not be able to find them, but we can be ready to combat them if necessary," Walter told them. "On the other side, they control the nanites with electro-magnetic pulses. It should be possible to modify a weapon to neutralize them in a field setting."

"Very well. Our labs will be able to assist you with anything you may need, Walter," Nina said.

"Thank you, dear, but I need to go back to my lab in Harvard if I'm going to be truly effective. The lab here is elegant, but it's not home. I need my equipment, my lab assistant…and my chair with a groove made exclusively by, and for, my ass."

Broyles and Nina exchanged looks of mutual bemusement at Walter's remark. Dr. Avila cut through the awkwardness of the moment by saying, "I'll get some of the nanites ready for transport, Dr. Bishop. While you work on a weapon, I'll stay here and continue studying them."

Thanking Dr. Avila for his assistance, Walter left the conference room, jogging lightly to meet up with Peter, who was already preparing to head back to Boston.

"Son, I hope you weren't too hurt by Olivia's outburst," Walter told Peter as they walked together. "She's just angry for the terrible mistake you made."

"Thanks, Walter. I hadn't been sure up until now, but you've made it all clear to me."

Walter stopped in his tracks and put his hands on Peter's shoulders. "Peter…it's very important that you and Agent Dunham repair your relationship. Even though it seems irreparable. Your lives are intertwined in ways you can't begin to imagine."

Peter smiled sadly. "You don't need to tell me this," he told the older man. "I'm trying. I really am. I'm not giving up." He turned and walked away.

Walter watched his son in despair. "You're not the one I'm worried about," he muttered to himself.

* * *

><p>"You're certainly forcing me to use my old research skills today, Agent Dunham," Karen Carmichael, a HR representative at the Library of Congress, told Olivia as they walked through the administrative offices. "I had to dig to find your man."<p>

"So, Mr. Locksmith did work here at some point," Olivia asked, having to practically sprint to keep up with perky Ms. Carmichael and her springy, stillettoed legs.

Ms. Carmichael suddenly stopped dead at a desk, Olivia nearly crashing into her. The librarian lithely turned into the seat at the desk and grabbed a file from the bottom cabinet. "Yes. But from what I understand, only for two weeks." She handed the manila file to Olivia. "He just came in one day, said it wasn't right for him, did his exit interview, and left."

Olivia looked at the woman, shocked for a moment. Then she took the file and looked at it. There were Harry's forms – his application, his benefits package, his W-4, his Maryland Tax Withholding. His handwriting was clean, block, and square – the handwriting of a military man. It reminded Olivia of her father's style.

Olivia flipped through the pages, one by one. Each page held a little bit of Harry that she could hold on to. But her face fell when she came to the last page – the emergency contact form.

There, in royal blue ink under the field "Name of Emergency Contact," Harry had written the name _Mitchell Loeb._

Karen Carmichael stared in confusion at the FBI agent. "Ms. Dunham? Is something wrong?"

Olivia brought the file down to the desktop with a thud. "Excuse me. I need to call my office." She promptly turned and began to walk away, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket.

"Ms. Dunham? Agent Dunham!" Ms. Carmichael scampered after Olivia in her spindly heels. "The reception quality is poor in here. You'll need to go outside."

Olivia gave the librarian the barest of nods before she stalked out of the administrative offices. Her heart racing, she tried to wrap her mind around what she had seen. Not only did Harry know John Scott, he knew Mitchell Loeb too. So well, in fact, that the man was his emergency contact. Harry was a ZFT agent – there was no other explanation. And at one time, Harry was in good graces with Mitchell Loeb. But what had he done to deserve a horrible death from a nanite infection?

Perhaps he had been working undercover, like John. Maybe they discovered his identity and decided to shut him up. But surely there had to be a less conspicuous way than through using the nanites.

She just didn't know. Olivia clutched the sides of her head as she walked through the building's hallways, her eyes burning from fatigue and the mounting horrors of the day. People shuffled briskly past her, some having confused looks at her shaken state.

Olivia always had an excellent sense of direction, but she felt like she was getting deeper into the building and feeling more lost as she tried to make her way out. Finally, finding herself walking between endless shelves of books, she stopped and sighed in frustration.

She looked up to the very top of the stacks, several feet in the air. She was like a little girl again, engulfed by the hugeness of the world around her. She desperately wanted someone to hold onto, she wanted a strong back and shoulders to wrap her arms around. She wanted a stubbled cheek to press against hers. For a moment, she wished for Peter.

"He's not yours," Olivia whispered to herself, trying not to feel the despair again.

She took a deep breath, and smelled brut and tobacco. Instantly she thought of Harry. She turned to her left, and inhaled again. It was stronger on the right.

She followed the aroma to a dark corridor. Cautiously she walked through it, and it almost seemed like she was back in O'Leery's bar again, looking for Harry in the back hallway. She stood in the darkness for a moment, not knowing what to do.

Then, she saw it, albeit faintly. A thin veil of smoke, gently drifting past her and down the corridor. She followed the smoke's line through the hallway, until she came to another line of bookshelves.

The smell of the green cologne and the tobacco lingered in this spot. Boldly Olivia approached the bookshelf, scanning the spines of the books that lined the metal platform. Finally, she stopped at a book with a title that had to be more than a coincidence: Salman Rushdie's _Shalimar the Clown._

Gingerly she pulled it from the shelf, pulling it open with the creaky sound of the binding splitting open. Olivia flipped through the pages quickly, scanning the lines of text. Finally she stopped in the very middle of the book. Squinting, she turned the book on its side to read something someone had written in the juncture of the pages in silvery ink. Pressing the pages apart, Olivia murmured the words to herself: _Love's just hard to paint._

Olivia sighed as she read it. "What are you trying to tell me, Harry?"

She had no sooner finished speaking those words than she noticed the words written in the book seemed to be moving away from the spine, as if they were melting like ice cream. Shocked, Olivia held the book away, then dropped it on the ground. But it was too late. She looked at her fingers. The tips were covered in the same shiny gray material.

"The na-the na- oh God!" Olivia cried hoarsely, as the grey goo began to quickly move up her arm. She could feel in burrowing into her flesh, seeping into the marrow of her bones, scurrying through her hair and her scalp. She tried to run, but her legs failed her and she dropped to the ground. She could feel the nanites in her lungs and her heart. They raced through her blood. She could taste them in the back of her throat. She looked up at the ceiling, stretching her eyes as wide as they could go, and the fluorescent blubs seemed tinted in gray.

She tried to cry for help, but her vocal cords and stopped working. The nanites had engulfed her completely. Everything went black.


	4. Chapter 4

The yellowish-white fluorescence of the ceiling lights glimmered in her eyes as she slowly opened them. She swallowed; her throat was dry, painfully so. She attempted to sit up, but her arms felt like lead and the half an inch she stirred felt like a mile.

Besides, an arm had immediately intercepted her movements and kept her in her prone position. Olivia flicked her eyes to her left and saw him. She smiled gently. "Hello, sir."

Broyles' mouth was set tightly, but his eyes betrayed him. "Dunham. Glad to see you're awake finally."

Olivia looked around the hospital room, feeling the cool pillow against her cheek. She looked down at her hands, to the fingers that had been trapped by the gray goo. "Yeah. I guess I'm okay." She turned back to her superior. "I guess, uh… Walter found a way to stop the nanites in time."

Broyles' eyes grew wide in confusion. "Nanites? What are you talking about?"

"The nanites that swarmed me. I was following a trail of smoke through the stacks, I opened one of the books. There was a message written inside of it, and it started to melt…" Olivia trailed off, feeling foolish.

Broyles sighed. "You collapsed in the Library of Congress. It was a combination of fatigue, dehydration, and low blood sugar levels." He leaned in closer. "When was the last time you ate? Or slept?"

"Sir, I have a job to do. If that means having to put off a few hours of sleep or a meal, then so be it."

"Well, that won't be a problem anymore. I'm taking you off this case so you can recover."

Olivia suddenly felt her strength renewed and she sat up quickly. "You can't do that. This is my case. I need to solve it!"

"What you need to do is take care of yourself. There are other agents who can take over." Broyles began to turn away, but Olivia grabbed his arm and pulled him close.

"Please," she pleaded. "In all the time you've known me, have I ever given you a reason to doubt me? The things I've been seeing – they're not hallucinations. They're real."

"Dunham, you're human. Sometimes-"

But Olivia wasn't listening to what he was saying. She knew she was losing him, and the only way to keep him on her side would be to tell him about Harry.

So she cut him off mid-sentence. "Broyles…there's something I need to tell you about me…and my connection to this case."

* * *

><p>Peter paced the waiting room area of the ER center at Georgetown University. He'd balled his hands into fists and was clenching them tighter, tighter…until he felt and heard a light pop and realized his nails had broken the skin.<p>

"Peter!" Walter cried in dismay as the younger man stared at the red-colored crescents in his palms. "Just be patient, son. She is going to be fine." Walter took a handkerchief out of his pocket and gently wiped the blood from Peter's skin.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Somehow, I have trouble believing that."

Walter frowned, revisiting in his mind his earlier suspicion. "What Olivia is going through…isn't your problem, I believe."

"Not my problem? She's made herself sick because of my mistake, and you say it isn't my problem?"

Walter was about to respond when Broyles approached them. "She's awake," he told them. He turned to Walter. "She wants to see you."

When both Peter and Walter began to follow Broyles back to Olivia's room, the dark man stopped, turn around, and with a sigh said, "Only Walter for now. I'm sorry, Peter."

Seeing the barely concealed frustration on Peter's face, Walter said softly to Peter, "There is more going on here that what we've been able to see. You need to have faith, Peter. Please."

* * *

><p>Olivia smiled when saw Walter enter, but it quickly faded when she saw the look on his face. It was completely humorless, bordering on militant. There was a knowing feeling to it – that he'd discovered a part of her she was trying to hide. For a brief moment, he looked like Walternate, and Olivia felt a primal surge of fear run through her.<p>

But then he smiled sadly, and he was her Walter again. "Agent Broyles said you wanted to see me, dear."

Olivia's smiling eyes shone with fear. "Walter…I know the doctors said I collapsed from exhaustion, but there's more to it than that. The things I've been seeing…."

"You share a connection with Harold Locksmith. You see the things he saw, felt the things he felt," Walter finished the sentence for her.

Olivia's heart began to race. She wondered how much he knew. "Yeah. It's like he's been giving me clues…"

"He's been leading you to the answers," Walter said quietly. Seeing the confusion on her face, he explained. "Cortexiphan test subjects tend to be introverts, avoiding relationships. But when they do form bonds with others…they are deep ones. That's why you felt that John Scott could see you in his memories. Why Peter appeared to you even when you were brainwashed to be Fauxlivia. You form psychic connections to people you've shared intimacy with."

"Walter…how did you know?"

"I saw the distress on your face when you came up to the house. Then later, when you called in from the road, you mentioned seeing a photo of Mr. Locksmith and John Scott at his ex-wife's house, but she didn't know who John was. It is unlikely that she would have kept a photo of someone she didn't know out in the open. The only way you would have known about it is if you knew where to look for it."

Walter sat on the edge of the bed, and gazed into Olivia's eyes. "Did you know him long?"

Olivia shook her head. She didn't have the words. She felt like she was admitting to cheating on her husband to her father-in-law. And then a scary thought passed through her mind: maybe, in yet another parallel universe, there was another Olivia Dunham, happily married to Peter Bishop, who was throwing her marriage away.

"Did you suspect him of anything when you knew him?"

"No, Walter. He didn't seem special in that way. And that's what made him special to me."

To Olivia's surprise, Walter nodded in sympathy. "We need to find a way to bring him out of you."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "I'm thinking the sensory deprivation tank, a metal rod in my spine, and some psychedelic drugs."

Walter shook his head. "As delicious as that sounds, dear, it's going to take more than that. I believe it's time to discharge you from the hospital and take a little field trip."

* * *

><p>Nina Sharp was packing the last of her files into her briefcase when there was a knock on the threshold of her open door. She looked up to see Dr. Avila's dark handsome face peeking in at her. "The nanites have been put in cold storage and are locked in our holding cell. Triple encrypted lock."<p>

"And that includes all the spillage from Locksmith's house, and the body itself?"

"Yes, everything."

"Has his family been informed?"

"The only living relative he has is his ex-wife. We supplied the FBI with ashes to give her for her appeasement."

Nina sighed and laid her briefcase on the ground. "Good. Thank you, Joe."

Frowning, he entered her office. "Is something wrong, Nina?"

She gave him a mirthless smile. "Usually I leave the detective work to Philip and his team, but…this time I can't help but feel disappointed that we weren't able to uncover the real story behind the nanites, and why a man had to die for them."

Dr. Avila crossed is arms and leaned against the desk. "Sometimes there are mysteries that can't be solved all at once. Sometimes we spend our entire lives trying to solve them. But maybe that's where our purpose comes from. In any case, we're prevented anyone else from being hurt by these nanites. I think that's enough."

"Maybe it is. Will you be heading back to the New York office this afternoon?"

"Yes, my flight leaves in two hours."

"Well," Nina said, getting up from her chair, "It was good to see you again, Joe. I'm sorry we wasted your time."

The doctor took Nina's hand and kissed it. "Time spent with you has never been a waste."

Nina smiled appreciatively. It was an attraction they'd already decided was not worth pursuing.

A half an hour later, Dr. Avila was on route 116 headed towards Burlington Airport. The road was clear and empty for miles when he suddenly had to stop completely due to a large metal barricade placed right in the center of the road. He parked his car a few yards behind another car with a person staring at the barricade, looking equally confused.

Dr. Avila sighed in frustration and took out his cell phone, ready to call the local authorities for assistance. But his phone unfortunately showed that there was no service in that area.

He began walking a few feet towards the other car. Hearing him approach, the driver turned and looked at him with a confused smile. "Is your cell phone not working either?"

Dr. Avila returned the smile. "I'm afraid not. What's going on here, anyway?"

The other man barked out a laugh, his stout belly shaking slightly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say it looked like a trap."

"A trap? That's a little extreme, don't you think?"

Dr. Avila had no sooner finished this sentence when he felt a gun being pressed into his ribs from behind.

"You know what I think is a little extreme?" a tall man with dark hair hissed in his ear. "Microscopic computers that consume living organisms."

The first man calmly took a photo out of his wallet and presented it to Dr. Avila. The scene was of Harold Locksmith's body, freshly removed of its flesh, lying in a puddle of gray goo. "Ever see anything like this before, Doctor?" the large, blonde man asked in a strangely pleasant voice. Dr. Avila's mixed reaction of recognition and horror was his answer. "Of course you have. We'd like to see more, if you don't mind."

* * *

><p>"So why are we here, Walter?" Peter asked as they pulled up to Harold Locksmith's house in Boston. After some convincing, Broyles had agreed to allow Olivia, Peter, Walter, and Astrid to enter the house, with a fully supplied team waiting outside.<p>

Olivia shot Walter look of quiet panic. Walter gave her the briefest of glances before explaining, "Mr. Locksmith knew John Scott, with whom Olivia shared a psychic connection. It's possible that if John visited our victim at his house, Olivia may be able to conjure some memories that could help us through imprinting."

Peter scowled in skepticism, but said nothing more. Once inside the house, Walter had Astrid take Olivia's coat while he removed a small vial of liquid and a syringe from his field bag.

Rolling up Olivia's sleeve, he leaned in confidentially with a smile. "Just a mild hallucinogen of my own creation, my dear. Nothing on the scale of LSD or any of my other recreational favorites. Just something…to open your mind a little."

Olivia winced ever so slightly as she felt the metal penetrate her skin. "Thanks, Walter. So what happens next?"

"Well, it'll take a few minutes for the drugs to take effect – perhaps a little longer; you've built up quite the tolerance for psychedelic stimulants since I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance, I'm proud to say. Once it does, your innate abilities should take over and you'll begin to tap into the imprints made on this space."

Astrid added, "In the meantime, just try to relax and clear your mind of all thought. The natural stimulants in the cocktail will work faster that way."

Walter looked at his assistant in surprise. "I was just about to say that, Astrid!"

The young woman grinned, almost flirtatiously. "I've been paying attention."

* * *

><p>Ten minutes easily became twenty as the four of them waited for something to happen in the dead man's house. Olivia, having been the one who'd spent the most time in the building and knew it better than any of them, was visibly the least comfortable being there.<p>

She wished she'd never met Harry. When he approached her, she should have done what she always did and sidestepped his advances. When she thought about it more, she realized she never should have gone out to a bar in the first place. She should have just gone back to her apartment and mourned the end of anything that could have happened with Peter.

"You were supposed to be the salve for my wound, Harry," Olivia said. She didn't say it out loud, naturally – not with the others hovering about her. She softly mouthed the words to herself, as if it were a prayer.

"You were supposed to make me feel normal for just a little while. Now you've just pulled me deeper into my own hell. You were always a part of it."

"Hi," he said, as he sat next to her on the sofa. Olivia turned and looked into Peter's face. For a moment, she felt like she was looking at him for the first time.

When she didn't answer, Peter leaned in closer, thinking that perhaps the drugs were finally starting to take effect. "Olivia…I've accepted that things may never be right between us again, but I want you to know that what we have now – this family we have with Walter, Astrid, Broyles, Nina – I will always be here to protect that, no matter what happens."

Olivia opened her mouth to answer, but stopped when she saw something. She turned her gaze away from Peter and to the far corner of the living room. She rose from the sofa and began to walk toward it. Peter called after her but she did not answer.

"I thought you said the cat was killed," Olivia called over her shoulder.

"It was," Peter said. Concerned, Astrid and Walter went to stand next to Peter as they watched their friend walk towards something they themselves couldn't see.

It was Shalimar. Soft, sleek and black, her yellow eyes flashing, she walked just slow enough to allow Olivia to follow her. She began to climb the stairs, up to the attic and the yellowy-white sliding door.

"Jacob's Ladder," Olivia whispered.

"Olivia!" Peter called out at the bottom of the stairs.

"No, son, let her go," Walter warned him. "She'll be fine; she knows what she's doing."

Shalimar disappeared into the sliding door. Olivia hooked her fingers into the door handle, and with a light grunt, pushed the door open.

She wasn't in Harry's house any longer. She was on the roof of a building in a massive metropolitan city. It could have been New York, or London, or anywhere, really. It didn't matter. What mattered was the feeling of death in the air.

Her stomach heavy with dread, Olivia began to walk away from the entry way to the edge of the roof. Looking down at the city, she felt herself become numb with horror.

Everything was gray. The buildings, the roads, the cars. There were still shapes of what had been, but it was mottled and pocked with a gruesome pattern of billions of little bugs. There was no life left: no people, not even a bird or a blade of grass shooting between the concrete. The entire world had been consumed and digested in the belly of a microscopic beast.

She felt the warmth of his hand on her back. She closed her eyes, squeezing back the tears. "You son of a bitch. You dragged me into this," she whispered.

Harry came around to face her. "I'm so sorry, Olivia. But I needed you. You need to make sure this doesn't happen."

"How?"

Harry thought for a moment, then without warning, he began to run to the edge of the roof.

"Wait!" Olivia cried out as he ran. Harry jumped and disappeared over the edge.

Terrified, Olivia peered over the ledge. The nanites had formed a large, grey river on the ground. She watched in a mixture of fascination and revulsion as the river began to form a huge face: empty black eyes, upturned nostrils, and a fetid mouth with razor sharp teeth and a tongue undulating in an almost lascivious manner.

Knowing what she had to do, Olivia closed her eyes, held her arms at her sides, and leapt off of the roof, allowing the nanites to take all of her into its mouth and swallow her whole.


	5. Chapter 5

Inside of the nanites' enormous gaping mouth was a diner. All shiny metal and worn upholstery, the diner felt warm and smelled of coffee and pie.

Olivia almost felt like she could relax – almost. Her hands balled into fists, she strode through the aisles of booths and tables, taking the faces of the patrons who looked back at her with a potent mix of indifference and contempt. Her green eyes sweeping through the diner, a table at the very back of the establishment and the man sitting there caught her attention.

It was Mitchell Loeb, sitting tall in his seat, looking out at the falling rain. His handsome Nordic face was turned from her. Olivia's heart thumped painfully in fear, and she had to remind herself that he couldn't hurt her.

Even so, she practically crept on tiptoe up to Loeb's table, waiting for something to happen. She didn't have to wait long, fortunately. Olivia could feel him before she saw him. She could feel him walking into the diner, his soaking umbrella hanging from his fingers.

She finally turned her head to look at Harry as he approached. He wasn't paying attention to her. He shrugged off his long, tan trenchcoat, hung it on the booth's hook, and slid into the chair across the table from Loeb.

Mitchell Loeb looked warily at the husband of his dead sister's friend. "So, Hare? What's new?"

Harry looked down at the pre-ordered coffee cup in his hands and shook his head. "Nothing new, just the same old problem. I'm not a kid anymore, but I can't seem to stop acting like one." Harry leaned forward confidentially; Olivia couldn't help but do the same.

"I lost $5,000 last night at the table, Mitch. We were saving the money for improvements to the house. I know Gail is going to ask for the money soon. She's been…flipping through those magazines, looking at fixtures and designs and paint colors. She keeps asking for my opinions…God."

Loeb sat back in his chair in disbelief. "You knew this was going to happen; why do you keep doing this?"

Harry smiled bitterly. "We all have our vices, don't we?"

"I suppose you want me to lend you the money. And keep my mouth shut to Gail. Is that it?"

"I've never asked you for anything before. But this time I really need your help." When Loeb didn't answer, Harry added, "I'm desperate, you know I am. I'd never come to you if I wasn't."

"What a great comfort. Fine, I'll help you, but only because Janie loved Gail like a sister."

"Oh, thanks Mitch."

"Before you start thanking me, you should know that my loan comes with a price."

"Of course, I'll pay it back—"

"I don't want or expect you to give me back the money. You're going to work it off, by working for me."

Olivia saw the fear in Harry's eyes when he heard this, and she wanted to scream at him not to do it. She knew what was coming, before she even heard it.

Before Harry could protest, Loeb held up his hand in reassurance. "I'm not asking you to quit your job at the lab. I know that would look suspicious to Gail. The work I have in mind shouldn't take up more than a few hours every month, but it's important work and I need someone I can trust doing it for me."

"What exactly would I be doing?"

Loeb smiled. "Simplest job in the world. I get shipments of certain articles from contacts. I need someone who can transport them from one destination to another. That's all."

Harry narrowed his eyes, feeling the old feelings of mistrust he'd had when Gail first introduced them when they were just dating. "Isn't that what FedEx is for, Mitch?"

Loeb laughed. "FedEx…isn't suitable for what I need to transport. I need a living, breathing person, who I know and trust, to get the stuff to my contacts."

Olivia shook her head. "Oh no, Harry. No, don't."

* * *

><p>Olivia could feel the wind blowing on her back. She turned around, and a year had passed. She was now sitting in the car with Harry, as he drove to his next errand for Loeb.<p>

The deliveries hadn't been too bad up to that point. All of the stops were on the east coast, within two or three hundred miles. The procedure was always the same: Mitchell would leave Harry a small package and an address in a post office box along with the date that he needed to be there. Harry would drive it to the location, and there was always someone waiting for him.

Harry never opened the packages. Mitchell made it clear that if he so much as lifted a square of tape from the sealed envelopes and boxes, he'd go straight to Gail and tell her about Harry's gambling and loaning him the money.

"That's the funny thing about blackmail, Olivia," Harry said as he handed a dollar bill to the lady in the toll booth. "It's the one crime where there really is no victim."

Olivia looked at him from the corner of her eye. She said nothing.

Harry delivered the package to the home of a nice looking black lady in Delaware. Her dark eyes seemed so open and friendly that Harry almost convinced himself that maybe, whatever it was Mitchell was dealing in, wasn't so bad.

Then two nights later, while watching TV news, Harry discovered that three children attending a school in Red Lion, Delaware were struck by a mysterious illness that killed them instantly. The principal of the school appeared on the news the next night, insisting that whatever killed the children had not originated at the school. The principal was the same lady with the nice eyes who had received the package from Harry.

And it was at that moment, lying in bed, Gail curled up against him, sleeping peacefully, Harry realized what he'd done. He felt his blood run cold with horror.

* * *

><p>The next thing Olivia knew, she was sitting at a neatly set dinner table at a formal reception. The light zing of violin strings lowed through the room. White tablecloths with red-rose centerpieces and the warm glow of candles dotted the landscape.<p>

Harry sat across from Olivia, but apart from everyone else. Gail made it a point to sit at another table with her friends – wives of other Air Force officers and employees. She also made it a point to not even look in Harry's direction.

Things were falling apart. Gail interpreted Harry's distance, absence, and irritability as falling out of love. And Harry, fearing for his wife's life, couldn't do anything to prove her wrong.

Olivia leaned over to him. "Harry…I know what's happening between you and Gail. I'm sorry. But can't you show me what I need to catch the ones who killed you?"

Harry seemed to look through her as he answered. "You know it doesn't work that way. You won't understand until you know the whole story."

Olivia sighed and sat back. "All right. So what next?"

Harry looked over her head with a smile. "Don't you recognize this place from something you've seen before? Don't you know who's coming?"

Frowning, Olivia turned around, and there he was.

A few years younger, but the same tall strength, the same knowing smile.

"John," Olivia whispered.

She knew he couldn't see her – that he wasn't here for her. But her heart was still racing with anticipation, the way it did the first time he came and sat down at her table while she was eating lunch without being asked.

This time, he sat next to Harry without being asked. John gazed out at the band playing, the people mingling in tuxedoes and shining black, blue and red dresses.

"Nice party," John commented to Harry.

Harry didn't answer. He fiddled with his glass of white wine, knowing that this guy was one of Mitchell's associates.

John tried a different approach. "You're doing the right thing – pushing her away. You don't want to get her involved in this, believe me."

Harry looked at him with indignation and began to get up from the table. John held up his hands in acquiescence.

"I'm not threatening you, Harry. I'm a friend."

"I suppose Mitch sent you to spy on me."

John chuckled. "Oh no, friend. Oh no. I'm your guardian angel. And I'm here to tell you – it's going to get much worse before it gets better." He leaned closer to Harry. "Those kids in Red Lion? That's only the beginning."

Harry looked over at Gail she and her friends got ready to take a picture together. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Keep track of your deliveries: where you went, when, who you made them to. That's all. I'll be in touch."

Then John was gone. Olivia's gaze lingered after him for a second longer than truly necessary, but finally forced herself to turn back to Harry. But they weren't at the reception anymore.

* * *

><p>Instead, they were in a department store. Harry was pretending to shop for ties; he rifled through them aimlessly, not really seeing any of their brilliant colors or clever patterns.<p>

Olivia leaned against the display table and crossed her arms. "Don't tell me…John told you to meet him here."

Harry looked up at her with a wicked grin. "Hey, these are my memories. I wanted you to know what a sharp dresser I always was."

When he heard Olivia's tiny chuckle, he added, "I'm glad I can still make you laugh, Olivia. I know I've put you through a lot."

"Harry," Olivia pleaded. "Please just tell me. Tell me that you were innocent. Tell me who killed you."

Harry began to answer, but stopped and smiled. "He's here."

Harry casually held up a red and black polka dot tie as John crossed his path. "It's not you," John warned him.

Harry dropped the tie in exasperation. "What do you want?"

"The feds are getting wise to the operation Loeb's a part of, Harry," John warned. "You're going to be indicted with them too if you don't get out."

"It doesn't matter. My life is over no matter what I do." Harry sighed and held up one particular tie – a strong, honest shade of blue. "I tried to get out – I even took a job at the Library of Congress. I got friendly with one of the librarians. Then she was almost killed in a car accident."

John sighed. "It could have just been an accident-"

"There are no accidents with these people!" Harry hissed, looking around cautiously at the shoppers passing by. "They hurt her to send me a message: that they own me, and if I betray them, they will hurt everyone I've ever known."

John frowned sympathetically, but changed the subject. "Harry…the next time you get a shipment from Loeb, I need you to give it to me. I need it for evidence."

"Give it to you? Do you know what Mitch would do to me if I did that? What he'd do to my wife?"

"_Ex _wife, Harry," John snapped impatiently. "And someday, you're going to have to get over your fear and do the right thing." He looked around the store cautiously. "I have to go. I'll be in touch."

But Harry never heard from John again. Then two years passed by. Mitchell Loeb was in prison. John Scott was dead. And all of Harry's hopes of ever being free were gone.

* * *

><p>Then, one rainy Wednesday morning, there was a knock on his door. A large, blond, gentle looking man stood in his doorway. Harry had never met him before, but he knew who this man was already.<p>

He scowled at the man's generous smile. "You've come to the wrong house. I don't make deliveries anymore, I'm afraid."

"My name is Ted," the man said. "May I speak to you for a few minutes?" Seeing the indignation on Harry's face, he held up his hands. "I just want to speak to you. Please."

Once he had settled his girth onto Harry's stuffed chair, Ted sighed, as if he were coming home. Then he began his story.

"If most people knew what I did for a living, Harry, they'd be horrified," Ted told him. "But do you know why I do it? It's because I know that all of this – this whole world that humans have created, with its shopping malls and nuclear power plants and dependency on oil – it's nothing. Just a speck of dust in the entire universe. And it's not going to last. I'm just moving the world along to its next step."

"Next step?" Harry scoffed. "Killing innocent people?"

Ted shrugged. "Survival of the fittest? Evolution? Call it what you like. How many animals and plants do we kill each and every day to make our own lives better? How many of our own kind do we exploit for our own gain? I just choose to acknowledge that things are in a perpetual state of change." With that, he pulled a small metal canister and a manila envelope out of the briefcase he was carrying.

"Look Harry. We like you. The fact that Mitch didn't give your name to the feds after he was captured should prove that. You should know they wanted a list of all of his associates, but he's never thrown you to them."

"The only reason why he's done that is to keep me in debt to him," Harry said flatly. "He doesn't care about me at all."

Ted smiled and held out the envelope. "If that were true, would he have asked me to give you this?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, in suspicion. Then, he carefully took the envelope from the other man and opened it.

Olivia, sitting over Harry's shoulder on the arm of the sofa, read the documents. Inside was a bank receipt and statement for an account opened in Harry's name.

Ted read the shock on Harry's face. "Think of it as a thank you for all you've done for us. You'll never have to work again. You can do anything you want: travel, open a business – whatever you've been dreaming of."

Harry's eyes turned to the other item Ted had removed from his bag. "And all I have to do is deliver that for you, is that it?"

"Just the opposite, actually. All we'd like you to do is keep this safe and unopened until the date written on the bottom. One of us will come to retrieve it on that date."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What's in it?"

"Nanites. Microscopic computers, capable to devouring human flesh in the blink of an eye," Ted said pleasantly, holding it out to him. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that it's sealed, and should stay that way."

Harry turned it upside down, to see the bottom.

"Harry…the date on the bottom!" Olivia exclaimed.

"I know, Olivia," Harry whispered confidentially.

Then Ted vanished, and it was just the two of them. Olivia stood before him, her hands balled into fists once more.

"How could you do it?" she asked, her voice stiff with anger. "How could you just take the money, knowing what was in that canister?"

Harry hung his head. "Olivia, I'm a lot of things. I'm funny. I'm clever. I can cook a perfect omelet, and I have perfect pitch. I'm an incredible dancer. And I'm a gutless coward. I always have been. Until the moment I opened that canister, I always took the easy way out. Opening that canister was my redemption. It was the second thing I did to set things right."

Olivia rolled her eyes, deciding to bite. "Fine. What was the first thing?"

Just then, there was the creaky sound of the heavy metal mailbox opening and closing. Harry looked at the front door, then back to Olivia, and smiled. "There it is."

"I got this envelope a week before the date on the canister – and two days before I met you," Harry told her with a smile, as he went to retrieve the envelope.

He chuckled as he looked at the envelope. "They didn't leave a return address. But I'll always be grateful to them."

Olivia took the envelope from him, glancing at the tight, looped handwriting on the front. She pried back the metal prongs on the back, reached inside, and pulled out the contents.

It was Olivia. Or rather, it was a photo of Olivia. Taken on the street somewhere, while she went about her business. Probably one of those mornings when she was running late and was hurrying to get some coffee. She hadn't even bothered to pull her hair neatly into a ponytail, and instead it hung loose and wild about her shoulders. Her black coat blew behind her with the wind, and the collar flapped against her cheek. Not the most flattering picture of Olivia.

However, when she looked up at Harry, he was smiling. "The moment I saw you, I knew you'd save me. I didn't even have to read the back."

Olivia turned the photo around, to read the words on the back.

_Find her. She's the only one who can help you now._

* * *

><p>Sitting at Harold Locksmith's kitchen table, a collection of electronics cannibalized gathered around him, Peter was bringing together the last pieces of the weapon they hoped had the potential to neutralize the nanites, if needed.<p>

He knew that their lab at Harvard was a better place to do this, and was a more comfortable place for Walter to work. But he wasn't going to leave Olivia in her drug-induced state in this house alone. He'd abandoned her once; he was never going to do it again.

Walter came around the corner from the kitchen, eating something from a small plastic cup. "Mmm. Mr. Locksmith had excellent taste in food. I do love the texture of a good triple strained Greek yogurt!"

"Geez, Walter! The man died a terrible death. How can you sit there and calmly eat his food?"

"I'm doing him a favor! I'm making sure it's not wasted," Walter argued.

Peter sighed. "Well, to add to your good mood, I think our weapon is almost there."

Just then, Astrid entered the room, nibbling the top of a stick of beef jerky she'd taken from the victim's pantry. "How does it work?"

Peter leaned back in surprise to take in the both of them munching away. "_Really_? You too?"

Astrid looked at Peter with hurt doe eyes. "_What_? I like beef jerky. I rarely get to eat it, working in the lab. Gene gave me a dirty look the last time I tried."

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and instead decided to answer Astrid's first question. "The device gives off radio waves. Good news is, it poses almost no threat to living organisms. The bad news is, it can only work in short bursts in a limited area."

"Yes, unfortunately the electromagnetic pulse caused by a nuclear reaction would be far more effective in destroying the nanites, but we would be cutting off our head to save our arm," Walter added.

"Well…let's just hope that it doesn't come to that," Astrid said.

"How's Olivia?" Peter asked.

Walter peered into the living room, where Olivia was lying on the sofa. Peter and Walter found her lying on the floor of the attic, and together carried her downstairs to keep an eye on her. Her eyes were open, but heavily lidded, as if she were perpetually about to fall asleep. She was hooked up to a heart monitor, which indicated a steady dream state.

"She's stable for now. Everything indicates she is where she needs to be."

"In that case, I'm going to call Dr. Avila and see if he has anything new to report," Astrid told them, and left the room.

"When will she wake up?" Peter asked Walter.

Walter looked at Peter as if he'd said the most stupid thing in the world. "When she's ready, of course."

"Fine," Peter said, then looked around. "Walter, can you hand me my jacket? It's getting cold in here."

Walter picked up the faded leather jacket, turning it right side up to give it to Peter. After he gave it to Peter, he noticed a slip of paper had fallen out of one of the pockets. Curiously he unfolded it, reading the address Peter had gotten from Astrid.

"Peter…" Walter said in a sharp tone.

Peter looked up from his work to see Walter holding up the paper. He closed his eyes in aggravation. "Walter, let me explain."

"Where did you get this? Who gave it to you?"

Peter's eyes darted momentarily to the other room, where Astrid was making her call. "I found it on my own. I…didn't know how to ask you."

Walter sighed and sat in the kitchen chair again. "Peter, I understand your curiosity, but… I'd prefer that you not go to see him."

Peter put down the screwdriver he was holding, and laid his hand on Walter's arm. "Everything that's happened…it started with him and me. I need to meet him."

"Peter."

"You've kept him from me for 25 years. It's time."

Walter was about to counter Peter's argument when Astrid came rushing in, breathless, panic all over face.

"The nanites," Astrid squeaked. "They're gone!"


	6. Chapter 6

Massive Dynamic's small lab in Bristol felt clean and peaceful in its emptiness and silence; the only thing marring the serenity was the multiple limp bodies of the staff, strewn throughout the building.

Doctor Avila and his captors wove through the obstacles to get to the safe containing the nanites. In spite of the gun pressing continuously into his ribs, the doctor spared a frightened glance at the other doctors and security guards, lying unconscious on the floor.

"Please tell me they're not dead," he whispered to the man with the gun, walking behind him. "Please tell me they're going to be fine."

His answer came in the form of the metal barrel pushed even harder against his skin. "Just shut up and get us the nanites."

"Aaron, please," the larger man said from the front of the line. "There's no need to be rude." He turned around and smiled generously. "They'll be fine, Dr. Avila. The weapon we used was designed to trigger unconsciousness with a special fractured light that produces high amounts of adenosine, tricking the brain into thinking it's time for sleep. They'll probably just have some dizziness and nausea when they awaken."

Aaron rolled his eyes, then looked to the left and right when he realized the hallway split. "Which way do we go?"

Dr. Avila hesitated, then jerked his head to the west wing. "This way. It'll take us right to the holding chambers."

Dr. Avila and Aaron Loeb donned the protective suits to enter the cleanroom; Aaron insisted that he be the one to watch him while he extracted the nanites.

Working meticulously yet frantically to transfer each nanite to the pressurized and temperature controlled container with a gun to his head, Dr. Avila couldn't help but smile to himself when he thought about the silent alarm and overhead camera they had tripped by taking the hallway he'd prescribed.

* * *

><p>Olivia was not yet aware of Dr. Avila's kidnapping or the theft of the nanites. She was still with Harry in the mind they shared.<p>

Looking up from the photo of herself, she realized what Harry had done. "You've been looking for me. Why didn't you tell me about the nanites when we first met? Harry…you didn't have to sacrifice yourself like this. I could have helped you."

Harry put his hands on her shoulders, and Olivia noticed it was starting to get darker around them. They weren't in his house anymore, but rather, standing in shaggy, brown grass. Olivia stepped out of Harry's embrace and looked around, confused. "Where the hell are we?"

Harry pointed to a line of trees nearby. Pulling the skinny, stark branches aside, he beckoned her to look. "I was standing in this exact spot. I had been following you."

Olivia peered between the branches, now starting to hear voices on the other side of the trees. Instantly she knew where she was.

She was there two nights earlier – at Roland Barrett's house. Olivia was seeing herself from behind, her yellow ponytail and dark, slim frame, sitting on the small wooden bench in the man's backyard. Her face covered, trying to hold it together. And there was Peter, looking concerned for her – and completely innocent - having absolutely no idea in his oh-so brilliant mind of what could possibly be bothering her.

And then Olivia heard her own voice, her own words, spoken back to her. She couldn't make out everything – they were several yards away – but Olivia could hear her words quite clearly when she reached a particularly emotional pitch.

"I understand…know that she had reams of information about me and about my life and about the people that were close to me…but…over there, I thought about you…held onto you, and it wasn't reasonable, and it wasn't logical, but I did it, so...why didn't you? Now she's everywhere… don't want to wear my clothes… live in my apartment…_don't want to be with you_! She's taken everything."

Olivia felt like she'd been struck in the chest experiencing it all over again – even if it was in the eyes of someone else. She pushed the trees branches back together and turned around. They were back in Harry's house once more.

Harry looked as heartbroken as she felt. "Olivia…I followed you afterwards, to O'Leery's. And when I saw how devastated you were, how hurt and angry you were feeling, I couldn't unload my burden onto you. Oh I tried, believe me, I did. I deliberately made eye contact with you at the table, then walked out into the hallway, hoping to lure you back there to talk to you. But when I saw your eyes, I couldn't. Because I know what it feels like to have everything you love taken from you. Because I know what it feels like…to be exhausted by life."

Olivia grimaced. "So you wooed me instead. Took me home, slept with me. You made me feel something for you. So that when I found out you had been killed by the nanites, I'd stop at nothing to find your killer, except…I'm looking at him."

They both jumped when they heard the scream. Olivia turned around to see Harry lying on the floor, the nanites swarming over his writhing body. The canister they'd been in had rolled several feet away from his upturned hand.

Harry was still standing by Olivia. "I know I used you. I'm sorry. But now, you've seen what the nanites can do. What better way to show you than to demonstrate it on myself?"

"There had to have been another way," Olivia murmured, shaking her head.

Harry cupped her face in his hands. "Maybe, but this was the best way. Your agency has the nanites now, and you can make sure they never hurt anyone, and now I'm finally free of Mitch and his people. Besides-"

He was cut off suddenly when the floor began to shake violently. Photos and pictures fell off of the walls and smashed to the ground. Chairs fell over, and the glass in the windows began to crack. It felt like an earthquake. Instinctively Olivia began to crouch to the ground.

"What's going on?" she shouted.

"I'm not sure, but…I think they're trying to wake you up," Harry told her. He turned to look at her with a smile. "Olivia, do me just one more favor: don't make the same mistake I did. Don't let go, no matter what seems to be in your way."

"Harry, I don't-"

"Just trust me," he told her, as he began to glimmer and shake out of focus.

"Harry! Harry, I can't see you!" Olivia cried.

* * *

><p>"Do you know what the difference is between a peach and a nectarine, Dr. Avila?" Ted asked, as his teeth sank another notch into the yellow juicy flesh of the second fruit he'd just named.<p>

Dr. Avila tried to force a casual smile as he loaded the last of the nanites into the distribution modules he'd been instructed to fill. The modules were the same size and shape of a pen, but had a trigger mechanism that would cause the plastic and metal trunk to burst, sending the nanites into the air. The modules would be distributed evenly around the hall of an upcoming banquet in Washington, DC.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ramey. Nanotechnology is my sphere of knowledge, not botany," he answered pleasantly.

Ted smiled agreeably from his seat, holding his drippy snack in one hand and a gun pointed at Dr. Avila in the other. "Well, yes I know, but a man should know a little about everything. Let me explain. People are often under the misconception that a nectarine is some sort of hybrid of a peach and a tangerine, hence the "rine" at the end of the name, or even a peach and a plum, because of the darker, smoother skin a nectarine has. But the truth is, the peach and the nectarine belong to the same species. The only difference is the smooth skin of a nectarine is a recessive trait, and the peach's fuzzy skin is dominant."

"If you don't mind me asking, what does this have to do with anything?"

Ted shrugged. "Just making a point – that sometimes, two things are exactly the same, just under different skins."

Dr. Avila inserted the last nanite-pen into its case and held it out to Ted. "And maybe sometimes…two things with the same skin are completely different inside. Like a Whitman's Sampler." Ted snorted at this.

"What the hell are you talking about? This isn't a goddamn tea time!" Aaron snapped as he entered the room. "He'll be here soon for them. Are they done?"

"They're done," Dr. Avila said quietly.

"Great. Ted, take the case and wait in the front of the house. He's literally going to drive through the path, brake long enough to grab the case, and speed off. If the case isn't ready, he's not stopping to find out why, so make sure your fat ass is ready to shuffle." Aaron turned to the doctor. "I'll take care of him."

Dr. Avila instinctively gave Ted a pleading look. He knew the big man was probably just as cold blooded a killer as the younger one who was eager to spill his blood, but Ted had been decent to him. The part of him that feared for his life had to hold on to the hope that somehow he'd make it out of here alive, in part because of Ted's decency.

"Aaron…the doctor doesn't deserve to die here. It's filthy and cold here. Let me take him somewhere else. Someplace that's befitting a gentleman." Ted spoke his words softly but firmly, standing up and tossing the half-eaten fruit aside. Dr. Avila was so tense he actually winced at the squishy thud.

Aaron looked away in irritation, then suddenly took out his gun and cocked it. "You know, I'm getting really tired of this Winston Wolf crap. You're a terrorist. In less than twelve hours, you're going to be responsible for the deaths of over one hundred people. What does it matter if one man dies in a dirty house?"

Ted glared at him. "Because I haven't seen the faces of those other hundred people. Because I haven't talked to them."

"You know, Ted, I have to tell you something. I've been itching to shoot you in the face since the moment I met you. Because I thought you were a soft, flaky bastard. But now I see I was wrong. You're just soft and flaky."

Ted walked two steps closer to Aaron, his head hung low as if he were a dog being punished. Without warning, though, and with reflexes that no one, not even Dr. Avila, would have estimated, his palm shot out and upwards, making contact with Aaron's nose. The crack of bone breaking was the maneuver's reward. Aaron stumbled backwards, dropping the gun in his hand from the surprise of the attack. He made a shrill, gargling sound, as blood began to run down his nostrils and into his throat.

Ted stood over the younger man, his expression never changing from its Buddha-like calmness. "You want to see the bastard I have in me, son? Let me show you."

Even in the surprise of the moment, still rooted to his spot, Dr. Avila couldn't help but notice Aaron's gun lying unprotected and inviting on the ground, just a few feet away.

* * *

><p>"Olivia? Olivia, wake up!" a voice was calling to her, distantly.<p>

Everything still looked myopically blurry. Olivia began to bat her eyes to try to clear them, feeling herself rising to consciousness.

"Olivia, snap out of it!" the voice was calling, louder now. She could feel the earthquake again, but it was smaller this time, surrounding only herself. The blurriness cleared, at last.

They were Peter's hands, shaking her awake. He stood over her, his eyes hard yet worried. "Olivia," he said simply.

"Peter," Olivia said with a dazed smile. "You're here."

He looked at her, puzzled. "Of course. Come on, you need to get up. We need to go. Massive Dynamic's lab in Bristol was broken into and the nanites were taken. We've got to track them down."

Astrid came rushing in with Olivia's coat in one hand and Walter's arm in the other. "They had Dr. Avila with them. They breached the containment hallway and activated the overhead feed."

"They're not in Vermont anymore," Olivia said as Astrid hastily helped her into her coat.

Peter frowned as he gathered their supplies. "How do you know that?"

"Because I know the men behind the break in. I saw one of them in Harry's mind. They operate out of Boston. They're headed back here."

"Even so, Boston is still enormous when you don't know where to look," Astrid pointed out.

Olivia thought for a moment, then abruptly dropped to the ground near the sofa.

"What's she doing?" Peter asked as Olivia pulled back the skirt of the seat to search beneath it.

"She's looking for something," Walter told him.

"Wow, Walter. I never would have figured that out," Peter snarked.

Olivia groaned as she pulled something from under the skirt. "Here," she said, throwing it to Peter. "That's where they are."

Peter frowned at the metal canister in his hands. "I don't get it."

Olivia stood and took it from him, turning it upside down. "The address on the bottom. This was what the nanites were put in. This is what they gave Harry."

"What are you saying, Olivia? That Locksmith deliberately set the nanites on himself?" Astrid asked in disbelief.

Olivia nodded quickly to her as she dialed Broyles and read him the address. "We need to get over there. Before they carry out their plan."

* * *

><p>An armada of federal agents pulled up sharply to the address Olivia had given to Broyles. The team, armored with bullet proof vests, burst into the grey vinyl-sided house, guns drawn, ready to fire.<p>

They didn't have to. Two men, one young, slim and dark, the other middle aged and portly, lay dead on the floor, bullet wounds in their chests.

Olivia entered the house after the agents. "Where are the nanites?" she shouted.

As the party began to fan out, looking around the tiny enclosure, Peter picked up a faint knocking. Motioning to Olivia and Broyles, they entered a long hallway in the back of the house where the knocking got louder.

"Is someone there?" a voice cried out. "Please, someone! Help!"

It was the very last door in the hallway; the doorknob was missing. Bracing himself, Peter called to the person on the other side of the door to get clear, then promptly kicked the door in.

Dr. Avila was on the other side of the door. Frightened, frazzled, and dirty, he practically embraced Peter.

Peter held him at arm's length. "What happened? Where are the nanites?"

Dr. Avila caught his breath before he answered. "They h-had a contact that came and took them. They blindfolded me so I couldn't see who he was, but they mentioned some upcoming function in D.C. that they were going to take the nanites to."

Olivia emerged from behind Broyles and pointed towards the front of the house, where the bodies lay. "How did they wind up dead?"

Dr. Avila glanced pointedly at Olivia before answering. "They killed each other, I think. They had…differing opinions as to what to do with me once-once the nanites were taken. The big one shot the other, then stuffed me in this room. After he locked the door and left, I heard more gunshots. I gue-I guess the other one wasn't dead yet."

"Dr. Avila, think closely. Can you remember anything that might give us a lead as to where in Washington? The name of the function, a street, a time, anything?"

The doctor ran his fingers through his mussed hair. "I uh, I think they said something about an evening function…the place had high ceilings with multiple vents. Right-right after an auction."

Broyles turned to Olivia and Peter. "Dunham, contact our people in D.C. Start looking for locations that match Dr. Avila's description. Bishop, lead the team in sorting through the stuff in the house. See if there's some data we can use."

"Agent Broyles? Could I please get a ride back to New York? I'm sure my family is worried sick about me. And I'd really just like to rest," Dr. Avila asked.

Broyles nodded. "Of course. Speak to Agent Hannity outside. One of his agents will give you a ride back."

From across the street Walter watched as Dr. Avila walked out of the house, bag in hand, spoke to one of the agents, then climbed into the back seat of one of the vans and sped away.

Olivia walked up to him. "Walter, we need to have that weapon to neutralize the nanites ready to go. We think they're going to try to unleash them at a D.C. function."

Walter frowned. "Olivia, you know the weapon only works at close distances in small areas."

"I know. We just have to hope that we stop whoever it is before they can set them off."

Peter joined them. "The dead men have been identified as Aaron Loeb – Mitchell's brother - and Ted Ramey. They probably have ties to ZFT."

Olivia nodded. "Definitely. Harry knew Mitchell Loeb. He was supposed to hold the nanites for them until they came to collect, but since Harry infected himself with them, we got our hands on them first."

Walter shook his head. "What an incredible death for a man to choose for himself."

Olivia ignored Walter's baffling comment and said, "He'd been trailing me. Someone tipped him off that I worked for the FBI. He killed himself…so that the government would keep the nanites safe." Olivia spoke her words slowly and carefully, hoping that her voice wouldn't crack with emotion.

"Do you know who it was? Who tipped Locksmith off about you?" Peter asked her.

"No. In my vision, he just received an anonymous package."

Broyles called to the three of them, and they turned to his attention. "Three possible sites in D.C. have been identified. We're dispatching security details around all three of them, but we need to get over there now. Fortunately they're all within five blocks of each other."

* * *

><p>Olivia sat with Walter and Peter in one of the FBI vans, speeding to the airport to catch a helicopter to D.C. Seeing her tense face, Peter tried to smile encouragingly. "We'll get there in time, don't worry."<p>

"I just can't believe Joe would rather go home than come and watch us bust those thieves," Walter commented.

Olivia frowned. "Joe?"

"Yes. Doctor Avila. He just jumped right into a van with one of the agents and sped away. No goodbye, nothing."

"Joe…" Olivia whispered to herself. "Joe…Joseph. Joseph Avila."

"Olivia?" Peter asked, puzzled. "What is it?"

"Love's just hard to paint," Olivia murmured, turning the letters around in her mind. The tight, looped handwriting of the envelope Harry had received matched the silver writing in the book she hallucinated in the Library of Congress.

"Just like Charlie's message. _You're gonna be fine_," she whispered to herself. "Jumbled!"

"Okay, Olivia, you're scaring me now," Peter told her. "What the hell's going on?"

"Stop the van!" she cried, rushing to the front seat. Frantically she called Broyles, who was in the second van.

"Dunham, slow down, what is it?" Broyles asked as she chattered quickly into the phone.

"It's not D.C. where we need to be. It's New York! Now, before it's too late!"


	7. Chapter 7

Ninety nine percent of the lights in Massive Dynamic's Manhattan office were now running on energy saving power levels, giving most of the building the illumination of twilight. Only one office, Nina Sharp's office on the 12th floor, was still using the full wattage of its lighting.

Nina sat at her desk, reviewing Brandon's latest reports on the progress of the Tylers. Tyler number 10, by far the most tractable and easy going of the group, was failing his aptitude tests. Tyler 4 was showing incredible potential in astral projection, but was suffering from terrible headaches that no available drugs could seem to alleviate. Tyler 7, the one who had kidnapped Peter, had become so mentally unstable that he had to be placed in a catatonic state. Brandon was recommending termination of their seventh model, something that Nina was having difficulty making a decision on.

The phone on her desk began to ring, and against her better judgment, Nina answered it. It was Philip. He sounded panicked, and he was barking something to her, but the phone began to break up.

"Philip? Philip, your phone must be dying. I can't understand you!" Nina shouted to him.

The line went dead. Frowning, Nina replaced the handset, then picked it up again and tried to dial him again, only to find that the phone line in her office was also dead.

She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out her cell phone, and found herself staring at a blank, dark screen. "What?" Nina whispered.

"Something wrong, Nina?" a voice asked her. Nina raised her eyes quickly and saw Joe Avila leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed.

"Joe! What are you doing here?" Nina smiled at the doctor, but her senses were starting to prickle with suspicion.

"Oh you know me. I love my work. Can't stay away from it, no matter what happens to me," he walked into Nina's office.

Nina stood up from her desk. "You've been through a lot. Why don't you let me call you a cab so you can get home and rest?"

"Oh Nina. The phones aren't working. The security feeds aren't working. How are you going to call me a cab?"

Nina swallowed, but gave her coolest smile. "Well, perhaps we should go to the restaurant downstairs and use their phone. Won't you come with me?"

He stepped closer to her now, his dark, handsome face looming over hers and blocking the ceiling lights. "Why don't you come with me?"

She stared at him. "What have you done?" she asked quietly.

He frowned, then leaned back slightly. His lips curled into a remorseful smile. "Nina, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I haven't done anything."

He just barely finished uttering that last word when his arm shot out of his pocket and he stabbed her with a needle he'd been concealing. Having no time to react, Nina was unable to deflect his arm in time and she sunk to the ground, everything around her becoming dark.

Joe stood triumphantly over Nina's motionless form. "Nothing yet, at least."

* * *

><p>Nina's head was swimming. She opened her eyes slowly, carefully, as the light was painful to them. She groaned, trying to move from the chair in which she sat. Her arms and legs were rigid and unmoveable, and when Nina could finally look down without nauseating vertigo, she realized she was tied to the chair she was sitting in.<p>

She heard a faint buzzing noise, and slowly raised her eyes to see that there was a monitor and a microphone in the room with her. The grey snow speckling the screen cleared to reveal Avila in one of the labs, dressed in a bio suit without the headpiece.

He was looking directly into the camera. "Hello Nina. I'm sorry for the drugs. The effects will be temporary, I promise you."

Nina twisted in her seat, helplessly. "Joe, what the hell are you doing?"

He laughed. "Do you really need to ask? I'm almost insulted. A nanotechnologist who's devoted his entire life to the science, finally gets his hands on the equivalent of a Boticelli. What do you think one does with it? One shares it with the world."

"Joe you know what these things are capable of. You know that the other side sent these things over to-"

"I don't care about the other side, or what their plans are," Dr. Avila interrupted her. "I've spent a long time going about acquiring these pieces of gold. They are the future."

"They're just bugs. Small, killer bugs," Nina spat out.

Dr. Avila shot Nina a look so full of fury that it could have fried the feed's circuits. "You're just as stupid as the rest of them. What a shame. The fact is, their potential is unlimited. I've freed them from their bounds. I suppose I should thank you – making me work with that addlepated old kook gave me plenty of time to reconfigure their programming. He was too concerned about the little soap opera playing out around him to notice what I was doing. Now, they don't just replicate in cellular peptides. Anything with a carbon base will work as a nest."

With that, Dr. Avila picked up the plastic carton containing the nanite tubules and looked into them. "They're magnificent. And I'm going to help them take their rightful place in the world."

Nina winced as she began to rub her human wrist against her bonds. "What are you going to do?"

Dr. Avila looked up at her, a nasty smirk on his face. "I never told you about my father, did I? I never knew him. All I know about him…is that he lived in two different worlds. He never gave me anything – except for knowledge of this nanotechnology from the other side. I've been waiting a long time to get these – to get everyone in the right place. And now – finally – I'm here. Nina my dear, your company is going to help me introduce these nanites to the world."

Nina couldn't help but laugh, in spite of her situation. "You know that I'll never let that happen."

"It doesn't matter what you allow or don't allow. You've heard of Diamond Green, haven't you? The best-selling organic all-purpose cleanser in the northern hemisphere. Massive Dynamic produces it. I think I can improve on the formula. My nanites, plus a missing bonding agent I needed from this office, equals a revolution in the way we see the world. A shipment is being produced tonight, to go out to thousands of offices, stores, and homes around the country. I just need to go to the factory and add the special ingredient. By the time anyone realizes what's happening, it'll be too late. It's going to be beautiful."

"Joe, you're sick. You need help," Nina told him calmly. Her panic and determination finally coming to a head, Nina managed to free her left wrist from her ropes.

"I wouldn't move, if I were you," Dr. Avila warned. "I've introduced just a few of my unconverted little friends to your cybernetic arm. They're inside a pressurized module. You start moving around, the chamber will burst, they'll make their way past your ports and into your bloodstream. You don't want that."

Nina froze, her eyes just barely skimming over her robotic arm. "Why?" she said softly. "Why do this? Why kill everyone and everything?"

By now Dr. Avila was packing up the cartons and preparing to leave. "Because it's the closest to perfection this sorry world is ever going to know. Organic life…is flawed in so many ways. We try to deny the flaws in different ways: love, humor, religion. It doesn't work. There is no harmony. These nanites...they grow, develop, replicate, all working together perfectly. There's no pain, no suffering. That's what they'll bring to us."

There was a low thud coming from outside the lab, in the hallway. Setting the nanites down carefully on the table, Dr. Avila turned to look in the direction of the sound. The moment his back was turned and he went to investigate, a grate in the ceiling was thrown open and Olivia jumped out of it, landing on her feet and jumping up quickly enough to catch him by surprise. Aiming carefully, she fired two shots at him: one in the shoulder and one in the knee. He stumbled backward, away from the table and against the laboratory door.

The doors quickly burst open and the police collected the screaming Dr. Avila from the floor and got him into an ambulance waiting outside.

Olivia looked up into the camera. "Nina! Are you all right?"

"Yes, but he rigged my arm with some of the nanites! If I move, they'll burst!"

Olivia turned to Walter, who now entered the room with Peter. "Walter, go help Nina. You'll need to remove her arm without the nanites being activated."

"Right way, Olivia. Peter, you'll help me, won't you?" Walter asked.

"Yeah, I'll be right there," Peter told the older man. He turned to Olivia. "How the hell did you know that it was Avila? No one suspected him."

"I had a hallucination of this phrase that I couldn't make sense of – _Love's just hard to paint_. I finally realized…that it was an anagram for _Don't trust Joseph Avila_. The handwriting I saw was the same as on the envelope with a photo of me that someone sent to Harry – Harold Locksmith. I realized that Avila must have sent him the photo so that he'd turn the nanites over to us, and since Avila worked for Massive Dynamic…"

"He'd be in the perfect place to get his hands on the nanites," Peter concluded. He worked up the courage to talk about something else. "Look, Olivia, I know that there are some things that just aren't my business…" he trailed off, hoping that Olivia would take his cue and tell him what he wanted to know.

But she didn't. She stood quiet and strong, but cold. It was becoming her usual way. He sighed when he realized he'd been closed off. "I'll see you around."

He left her standing in the lab while he went to join Walter. Together they managed to remove Nina's arm safely and extract the nanite chamber. Walter was unusually quiet while they worked.

"Walter…what is it?" Peter asked him.

The older man smiled bitterly. "While we were waiting to burst in on Avila, I heard what he said about me. _Addlepated old kook_."

"Walter, don't even think…"

"It's okay, son. I'm not so fragile that I could be brought down by the insults of a madman. But he did make a good point. I was….distracted by what has been going on around me. And it very easily could have ended in tragedy. What's happening with you and Olivia…and with you and that…visit you want to make, are for you, and you alone, to work out. I can't shield you from life…and I can't make the difficult decisions for you. I'm – I'm not going to try anymore."

Peter laid his hand on Walter's arm. "Thanks Walter. I appreciate that. But you should know…it's enough for me to know you're there. Even if you're not saying a word."

Walter smiled and gently patted Peter on the back. "I'd like to go home soon, but first, I need to speak with someone. Will you wait for me in the car?"

Peter agreed to meet him downstairs, and once the younger man left, Walter jogged over to the laboratory, hoping Olivia was still there.

She was. She was just finishing her report to Broyles and overseeing the secure confinement of the nanites.

Once Broyles excused himself, Walter stood close to Olivia. "You did an excellent job, my dear."

"Well, Walter, I have you partially to thank. You helped me understand the hallucinations I was having. And you mentioned Avila's full name, which helped me piece together the anagram. Speaking of which, I had that hallucination in the Library of Congress, before I had my vision of Harry. Harry definitely didn't know who Dr. Avila was. So how did I get that message?"

Walter looked away, trying to find the right words to explain. "It's – I believe it's because...your abilities are becoming evolved to the point that you are able to experience the world without the confines of time. In some ways, time…is just another spatial dimension, like depth or height. You are just beginning to – to transcend the boundaries of what present, past, and future are. This is probably not going to be the last time in which your mind knows something before it happens."

Olivia gazed at Walter, not bothering to banish the fear from her face.

In the office above the floor in which they stood, Nina Sharp made the executive decision to destroy all the nanites – a direct violation of William Bell's directive.

* * *

><p>Three days later, Olivia was sitting in her living room, drinking her morning coffee and waiting to be called to another case. Perhaps it would happen, perhaps it would not. She couldn't be sure which scenario she was hoping for.<p>

Next to her on the end table lay an envelope addressed to Peter that she planned to give him the next time she saw him. Inside was a letter that Olivia hoped would start to change everything.

When Peter took off after finding out that Walter had taken him from his universe, Walter lamented to Olivia that he'd written a letter for him explaining everything, but had ripped it up before he could give it to him.

"I just sat there in that hospital room, tongue-tied and rambling, while he just got angrier and angrier," Walter told her as she tried to put him to bed that night. "I'd written a letter to him. The letter was more concise. It explained everything in just the right words. But when the time came, I just couldn't give it to him."

Olivia looked down at the old man she'd come to care for like a father. She could see the lines of the years in his face in the dim light, but he reminded her of a boy, confessing to a wrongdoing and not knowing how to make it right.

"Walter…you were afraid of losing him. I was too. It's…understandable why you couldn't tell him."

Walter smiled sadly. "I just can't believe he left, even after I got the sign. I guess…_He_ might've forgiven me, but _he_ didn't…." he trailed off, finally falling into a dreamless slumber.

Remembering Walter's argument of the value of a letter, Olivia decided to write one of her own. Like an author first trying out her literary powers, she had read her letter over and over again, trying to imagine what her reader would feel and think when he absorbed her words.

The letter began by explaining that while Olivia knew that Peter never meant to hurt her, he did, and now she needed time to herself. She wrote that she hoped that one day they could try to repair their relationship, but even if things would never be the same, she knew now that what he'd told her before was true. That along with Walter, Astrid, and the others who lived every day in the realm of the impossible, they were a family. For better, and for worse.

The second part was decidedly more difficult for Olivia to write, but she knew that it was necessary. She confirmed what Peter had no doubt suspected by now: that she knew Harold Locksmith before they started investigating his death. She recounted when and where they'd met, and what had happened between them. She explained that part of the reason why she'd done it was to escape from her pain for a little while. She confessed that she would be lying if she said there wasn't a part of her that did it out of spite.

Olivia acknowledged that Harry was special to her, now in his death. But even if he hadn't died, she was never going to pursue anything more than a passing night with him. In the same way, she wrote, that Peter would never pursue anything more with the other Olivia once he knew who she was and what she had done.

A thorn of doubt pierced Olivia's confidence at this last thought. After all, Olivia had lived that woman's life. She had sampled her confidence, her charisma and charm. She knew that it had been attractive to Peter. But, as Olivia pressed on in her writing, she convinced herself that she had to let her faith in Peter override her doubt.

Olivia ended her letter by reflecting on all the things she and Peter had been through together. It had never been easy, but she knew now that she wouldn't have changed anything. And now, with more at stake than ever, it was more important than ever before that they bring the very best of themselves to the table, every time.

To Olivia's surprise, the part she had the most difficulty with was coming up with her closing. "Best" was too icy, and "Love" was too forgiving. Finally, she settled on "Yours." Somehow, it was familiar, yet non-committal at the same time. It fit her.

She was down to the last sip of her coffee when there was a knock on the door. She opened it to find a FedEx delivery man, holding a small padded envelope. He handed her the envelope and she thanked him.

She unwrapped the package to find a simple white book titled _If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him! _She opened the cover to find a simple typed note inside: _Olivia. Because you asked. Peter._

The ringing of her cell phone swept her away from the emotions starting to bubble within her but were not yet defined. It was Broyles, giving her an address she needed to get to immediately.

She programmed the directions to Parklane Senior Care into her GPS. She put her coffee cup in the sink and filled it with water to soak. She pulled her long, dark coat around her, and, remembering the book, she stuffed it into the pocket. She began to walk to the door, but then just stopped in her tracks.

She knew she had to leave, but her feet wouldn't move. She touched her coat pocket and felt the book's cover through the wool.

Because _she_ asked. Because she wanted to insinuate herself into every part of the life that Olivia was starting with Peter. Because she cared…or, rather, _pretended _to care. Because Peter cared for _her._

_Because she asked_…and suddenly Olivia could see it clearly in her mind. It didn't matter that it was all in her imagination. Olivia could see it, and that made it real to her.

Peter is walking with a woman whom he thinks is Olivia on his arm, strolling through the streets of Boston. It's a cold afternoon, so Peter pulls Olivia a little closer to him, and she allows herself to be pulled in, making their walking slightly awkward, but adorable to anyone watching them.

After lunch at the Angora Deli, where Peter notices that Olivia has a surprising affinity for avocadoes on her sandwiches, they decide to go to Brattle Theater and catch an odd, existentialist film that someone from Peter's eccentric circle of acquaintances recommended. They huddle together in the very center of the theater, watching an odd spectacle of two men and two women trapped together in an enormous trashcan, floating out to sea.

"This reminds me of _Waiting for Godin_," Olivia whispers to Peter.

"It's Godot," Peter corrects her, munching his popcorn. It does give him pause, her mistake, and he turns to look at her. She senses his gaze and she turns to him, then smiles when she notices a small kernel shell is stuck on his lip. As she gently brushes it away, Peter feels his doubts begin to recede once again.

An hour later, they leave the theater, and Olivia wraps her arm around Peter's waist and pulls him against her as they leave. "Weird. Weird taste, Bishop. I can't wait to see what other things you're into."

"You didn't like it?" Peter says with a mock frown.

"Uh…maybe I should have read the book first. Was there a book?"

"Hmm. Don't know. I'll have to see."

Olivia laughs. "I bet the book is just a riot."

So after Peter drops Olivia off, he starts doing painstaking research, tracking down copies through Amazon and the library system. Finally he finds one copy on the east coast, and he orders it online, imagining the look on Olivia's face when she gets it.

Peter probably imagined he'd be at his desk in Walter's lab, when Olivia would walk up behind him with the book. "Because I asked, huh?"

Peter planned to turn and smile. "Just because you asked. Of course. Not easy to find, by the way."

"Hmph," Olivia would snort. "Next time I'm asking for a Mustang convertible, if that's all it takes." She'd lean down and kiss him sweetly on the cheek. "Thank you. I'm touched."

Stroking the smooth paper cover of Peter's gift, Olivia now realized why he hadn't seen through her double's deception.

He didn't want to.

The signs were all there. Quicker with a smile, less intense. But that only meant easier to connect with. More fun to be around. She was the Olivia he'd wanted her to be.

Peter had taken the easy way out. Instead of questioning what he knew was wrong, he decided to stay comfortable. He'd enjoyed his fun, easy, passionate romance with an imposter while Olivia endured solitary confinement. Hallucinations. Experimentation. Threats of death. All suffered at _his _father's hands.

She'd sacrificed everything and left her world to get him back. And now, this was her reward.

Olivia blinked her eyes quickly, reminding herself that she needed to go. But before she left to meet her team at Parklane, she returned to the end table to retrieve the letter she'd just written. She gave the white envelope the briefest of looks before tearing it in two and tossing the pieces into the nearby wastebasket.


End file.
